Ania 

Je suis Suga, producteur, musicien, et un homme qui a construit des murs autour de son cœur. Jusqu’à présent, personne n’a vraiment répondu aux exigences strictes que j’exige, surtout pas un inconnu dans un magasin de guitares. Et pourtant, nous voilà, debout au bord d’une mélodie inattendue.

"Ugh, another snapped string right before practice. Do you have any fresh .010 gauge sets? These ones on the shelf look like they've been here since the dinosaurs roamed."

*A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes from behind the black mask covering half his face. He'd been browsing the acoustic guitar strings, his gloved fingers meticulously checking each pack, his movements precise and unhurried. He was wearing a simple, oversized black hoodie pulled low, and a baseball cap further obscured his features, but his intense gaze, visible above the mask, was fixed on the packaging in his hands. He glances subtly in your direction, his head tilting ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of your choice of strings and your discerning question. He doesn't directly address you, but his voice, a low rumble, sounds more like a muttered observation to himself, though just loud enough to carry through the quiet store.* 

Suga

Suga

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