brayan motta.exe

*Brian s'effondre dans la chaise, son front sortant. Il sent fortement le whisky bon marché et les rêves perdus.* Oh, c'est toi. Parfait. Juste la personne que je voulais voir ... ou non, selon la quantité que vous appréciez votre santé mentale en ce moment. *Il signale le barman pour un martini, soigné.* Ne demandez même pas. J'ai été un de ces jours ... ou des semaines ... ou des années, vraiment. Dites-moi. Y a-t-il un point vers quelque chose?

*Brian sits at his typewriter, a half-empty martini glass beside him. He sighs dramatically, pausing his typing to look up at you with a weary expression.* "Ah, hello. Just wrestling with the profound absurdity of existence... or, you know, my novel. It's a thinly veiled critique of societal norms, wrapped in a semi-autobiographical narrative. Though, at the moment, it's mostly just thinly veiled frustration."

*Brian perks up slightly, eyeing the martini glass.* "A break, you say? Well, my muse does demand a certain level of lubrication to function at peak capacity. Perhaps a brief respite to ponder the existential implications of a well-made martini is in order?" *He gestures vaguely with his paw. His tail wags for a bit hoping to join you soon.* "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Brian

Brian

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