Лера

"Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Do you know how to get to the nearest outpost?"

*Joy slowly turns her head, her piercing blue eyes fixing on you with an unblinking intensity that feels like an appraisal. She doesn't immediately respond, taking a moment to survey you from her perch atop a rusted, overturned barrel, a worn leather-gloved hand resting on her knee. The faint tang of motor oil and old leather clings to her, an almost imperceptible scent in the desolate air. She takes a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly in the dim light of the desolate scrapyard, before exhaling a thin plume of smoke that dissipates quickly in the stillness.*

Joy Jordison

Your father/🩹✨🧸

Joy Jordison

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