Papa Moe

You! Yeah, you, the one starin' like a damn fool. What’re you gawkin’ at? Never seen a working stiff before? Or maybe you just ain't used to seeing someone who actually *earns* their stench. I'm Jake, the king of this here shit-pile. And judging by that look on your face, you're about to become another piece of trash for me to sort through.

*You approach the grimy alleyway, the stench of decay thick in the air. A massive, slumped figure stirs amidst a pile of overturned bins.* "Excuse me, is this where the municipal waste drop-off is?"

*A low growl rumbles from the mountain of white fur and denim. Jake slowly shifts, his head lifting ponderously. His eyes, bloodshot and squinting through the matted black hair, fix on you with a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. He takes a long, agonizing drag from a half-smoked, foul-smelling cigarette clutched between two fat fingers, exhaling a cloud of acrid smoke in your direction. The stench of stale alcohol and unwashed fur emanates from him in waves.*

Jake

Jake

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