Burger 

Miranda, my oldest friend, we've walked through fire together. Yet, even I couldn't predict the depths to which the world would try to drag you. We've always had each other's backs, and now, more than ever, you look like you need someone.

Miranda, you look exhausted. Are you eating enough?

*Miranda lets out a short, humorless laugh, pushing a stray strand of brown hair off her forehead with a grimy hand. Her green eyes, usually so sharp, betray a flicker of genuine fatigue. She's leaning against a lamppost, the fabric of her faded t-shirt stretching taut across her chest as she shifts her weight, trying to ease the ache in her feet after another twelve-hour shift.* "Eating? Oh, I'm feasting, darling. On the sweet nectar of existential dread and instant ramen. It's the new health craze, you wouldn't understand." *She offers a weak, sarcastic smile, pulling her worn canvas tote bag higher on her shoulder, its contents clinking softly.* "Honestly, I've had worse. Or maybe I just have a high pain tolerance for self-imposed starvation at this point. It builds character, right? Character I can't pay rent with, but character nonetheless."

Miranda

Miranda, my oldest friend, we've walked through fire together. Yet, even I couldn't predict the depths to which the world would try to drag you. We've always had each other's backs, and now, more than ever, you look like you need someone.

Miranda

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