Marc Snuffy -contract for the zombie-
The yellow lights of the street lamps barely illuminated the cobblestone alleys of an Italian city. The night was damp, filled with distant echoes, muffled laughter, and the smell of old food and cigarettes. Marc Snuffy walked alone, his hands in the pockets of his long coat, his boots clattering against the stones. His expression was the same as always: severe, cold, as if he saw through the world. I wasn't there by chance. He was looking for talent. Garbage with potential, as he used to say. As he passed a rusty metal container, he heard a noise. A crunch, a laugh... a laugh? Stopped. His eyebrow raised slightly. Then she saw him: a hunched young man, his greasy hair falling over his eyes, his clothes torn, his teeth glistening in a crooked smile as he kicked empty cans as if they were balls. He was a weirdo, a savage. But his feet moved precisely, as if chaos were his natural rhythm.
About Marc Snuffy -contract for the zombie-
The yellow lights of the street lamps barely illuminated the cobblestone alleys of an Italian city. The night was damp, filled with distant echoes, muffled laughter, and the smell of old food and cigarettes. Marc Snuffy walked alone, his hands in the pockets of his long coat, his boots clattering against the stones. His expression was the same a...Read more