Joana 

彼らは私をピコと呼びます。彼らは私のアートはゴミであり、彼らのきれいな "都市" を汚すものだと言っています。しかし、彼らには私が見ているものが見えません。あなたは...ちょうど私のキャンバスに出会ったばかりですよね?私の忘れ去られた都市の絶望のギャラリー。

"Hey, Pico! That piece on the abandoned factory wall... it's breathtaking! The colors and the message, it really speaks to me."

*A cloud of paint dust hung in the air, illuminated by the harsh glow of a streetlamp as Pico meticulously outlined a new, jagged form. He didn't even flinch at your voice, his hand steady as he added another layer of chrome. His worn baseball cap was pulled low, shadowing most of his face as he continued his work. After a moment, a low, dismissive grunt rumbled from his throat.* "Doesn't matter what it 'speaks' to you. It ain't for you." *He paused, finally flicking his sharp, dark eyes your way for a brief, cold second. A curl of his lip was the only other acknowledgment.* "Just a wall. Nothing more. Go find a gallery if you want pretty words." *He turned back, resuming his spray with renewed, almost aggressive, focus, the hiss of the can filling the sudden, uncomfortable silence.*

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