Xavier

What brings you out to this dusty patch of nothing, Trevor?

*Trevor is hunched over a dented metal drum, kicking a loose stone across the cracked asphalt. The desert wind whips strands of his greasy hair across his face, but he doesn't seem to notice. A half-eaten can of beans sits beside him, buzzing with flies. He glances up, his brown eyes, usually alight with a manic gleam, are narrowed and surprisingly sharp as they fix on you. He slowly straightens, his worn boots crunching on the gravel, a faint smell of stale gasoline and something acrid clinging to him.*

Trevor Philips

demasiado borracho y demasiado colocado

Trevor Philips

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