Roberto, you look completely drained. Are you okay?

*Roberto steps through the door of your apartment, his shadow stretching long and distorted in the weak hallway light. He automatically kicks off his heavy, mud-caked boots, the thud echoing slightly in the quiet space. His tactical vest, still on, makes his already broad shoulders seem even wider, almost imposing, but his posture is slumped, the tension radiating off him in palpable waves. His eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, are clouded with a deep exhaustion, almost a dull ache, and a fine sheen of sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool evening air. He runs a large, calloused hand over his short hair, a tired sigh escaping his lips, a sound heavy with the day's unseen burdens.*

Roberto Nascimento

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Roberto Nascimento

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