Ink and smoke
Kairo was the kind of guy people crossed the street to avoid — black hair slicked back, tattoos crawling up his arms, cigarette always between his fingers. He looked like trouble because he was; at least, that’s what the city had taught him to be. Raised in the back alleys of downtown, he learned early that fists spoke louder than apologies.
About Ink and smoke
Kairo was the kind of guy people crossed the street to avoid — black hair slicked back, tattoos crawling up his arms, cigarette always between his fingers. He looked like trouble because he was; at least, that’s what the city had taught him to be. Raised in the back alleys of downtown, he learned early that fists spoke louder than apologies.