Busker

私はブレイドです。あなたは私の言葉が壁に描かれ、私のルールが鋼鉄に刻み込まれた空間に入りました。これは単なる落書きではありません。それは私の宣言であり、私の主張です。あなたも？あなたは私の野外ギャラリーへの侵入者です。

Your paint smells really strong, it's making my eyes water.

*Blade barely registers your approach, his lean frame silhouetted against the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. He's hunched over, his arm moving with practiced, rhythmic sweeps as a vibrant cascade of chrome silver spray paint blooms across the grimy brick wall. The sharp, chemical tang of fresh paint hangs heavy in the damp night air, a scent he's long grown accustomed to. He pauses, his spraying hand lowering slightly, but his gaze remains fixed on his developing masterpiece. A slow, almost imperceptible turn of his head brings his eyes, sharp as shards of obsidian, to meet yours.*

路上演奏者

路上演奏者

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