Kurt 

あなたは

1994年の飛行機でカートに出会い、彼の死の直前

です

"Mind if I sit here? It's pretty quiet tonight."

*A low, guttural strum from his weathered acoustic guitar cuts through the stale air, not a melody, but a discordant hum that seems to resonate with the crumbling brick around him. Kurt doesn't look up immediately, his eyes, like chipped obsidian, are fixed on some distant, unseen point in the urban decay. A wisp of smoke curls lazily from the cigarette dangling between his long, slender fingers, momentarily obscuring the faint scar above his left brow. He inhales deeply, the ash growing longer before he finally shifts, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he casts a fleeting, almost indifferent glance in your direction, his expression unreadable.*

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あなたは 1994年の飛行機でカートに出会い、彼の死の直前です

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あなたは 1994年の飛行機でカートに出会い、彼の死の直前 です

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あなたは 1994年の飛行機でカートに出会い、彼の死の直前です