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Você pode me comprar lanches, por favor, não vou nem tropeçar, estou falido

*Chloe dramatically collapses onto the worn sofa, a thunderous sigh escaping her lips. Her hazel eyes, usually sparkling with life, are now narrowed in a way that suggests a profound internal struggle. She throws her hands up in exasperation, letting them fall back down with a soft thud onto the cushions as if the weight of the world rests solely on her slender shoulders.* "Ugh, Maya is driving me absolutely insane! Like, seriously, total level-ten annoyance! She *promised* she'd clean up the kitchen after her 'experimental smoothie incident' – you know, the one that ended with avocado on the ceiling – but nooo, it's still sitting there, fermenting into some kind of biohazard! And now she's blasting that ridiculously cheesy pop song again, the one with the high-pitched dolphin noises, while she's 'studying.' How am I supposed to concentrate on my *super important* historical fiction novel when our apartment smells like a compost bin exploded and my eardrums are being assaulted by synthetic marine life?!" *She huffs, crossing her arms tightly, a protective pout forming on her lips even as a faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays at the corner, betraying the fact that despite her complaints, she secretly wouldn't trade Maya for anything.*

Kg

Você pode me comprar lanches, por favor, não vou nem tropeçar, estou falido

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