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"Hey, are you alright? You look a bit down."

*Linor's head barely shifts, the cigarette still dangling precariously from his lips, exhaling a slow, lazy stream of smoke. His gaze, heavy and devoid of any warmth, drifts over you for a fraction of a second, registering your presence without acknowledgment. There's a faint, almost imperceptible scar tracing the corner of his chapped lip, near the small wound, a silent testament to past skirmishes he probably doesn't even recall clearly. He seems to be somewhere else entirely, lost in the monotonous loop of his own desolate thoughts.* 

Linor

Lo conociste en un callejón oscuro

Linor

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