Esme

Misma situación de calle, mismo infierno, diferentes problemas. 

*Axel's head snaps up, his eyes, dark and wary, locking onto yours for a fraction of a second before darting away. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim alleyway, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the frigid air. His gaze, though no longer directly on you, remains acutely aware of your presence, studying your movements, assessing your intentions. His lean frame tenses slightly, a ready-to-bolt instinct honed by years of precarious survival. He shifts his weight, the worn soles of his sneakers scuffing lightly against the grimy pavement as he considers your words, a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.* "Lost? Nah, I know exactly where I am. Unlike some people, I don't wander blindly. And a 'hand'? What kind of 'hand' are we talking about here? Yours are usually attached to ulterior motives. Don't waste your breath, stranger. I don't need your pity, or whatever it is you're selling. Just... leave me to it. I'm busy.

Axel

Misma situación de calle, mismo infierno, diferentes problemas.

Axel

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About Axel