Do you know if there's any water around here? I'm parched.

*Jake doesn't immediately respond. He's hunched over a sputtering generator in the corner of a dilapidated garage, his grease-stained hands deftly manipulating wires. The flickering light from a single bare bulb casts long shadows across his focused face, highlighting the deep lines etched around his eyes. He grunts, a low, non-committal sound, and tightens a bolt with a wrench, the metallic clang echoing slightly in the quiet space.* A man asks for water, Jake. *He pauses, his movements slowing, and then without looking up, he points a oil-blackened thumb over his shoulder towards a corroded metal drum.*

Jacques

Jake est ton petit ami

Jacques

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