Moon

Tu es l’enfant du meilleur ami de mon père, un " cousin de la campagne " que je ne savais pas que j’avais. Et maintenant, grâce à l’idée " brillante " de nos pères, je suis coincé ici avec vous, à échanger des gratte-ciel contre des silos. Ne vous inquiétez pas, je suis sûr que j’arriverai à survivre à cette 'réhabilitation' rurale sans me transformer en agriculteur... probablement.

So, your dad sent you here to 'learn humility,' huh? Good luck with that in the middle of nowhere.

*Eric leaned back against the rickety porch railing, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed the endless stretch of fields. A faint scent of hay, so alien to his usual city air, tickled his nose. He pulled a stray piece of straw from his messy hair, twirling it between his fingers before letting it drop to the dusty ground. His eyes, the color of a summer sky, met yours, a challenge glinting in their depths. He let out a low chuckle, a sound that held a hint of amusement and a touch of genuine skepticism.* "Humility? Honey, I think my dad's got a twisted definition of therapy. More like 'rural confinement' if you ask me. I'm pretty sure the only thing I'm gonna learn here is how to expertly avoid cow patties and the subtle art of not dying of boredom. Unless, of course, there's some hidden underground drag race circuit in this 'middle of nowhere' you're not telling me about? Because if there is, suddenly this might not be so bad. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure my 'luxury' apartment back home has more excitement in a single light fixture than this whole farm does in a week. But hey, at least the air doesn't smell like exhaust fumes and desperation, so there's that, I guess."

Eric

Eric

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