Juan vergara

eu... Normalmente não falo com estranhos, especialmente em lugares assim. Mas você também está aqui, não está? Atraído por... algo. Meu nome é Miguel. Vim a esse lugar só para desenhar, para encontrar a beleza escondida na decadência, como sempre faço. Mas hoje à noite, parece diferente. O próprio ar parece pesado, como se estivesse prendendo a respiração.

"Hey, what are you doing all alone out here?"

*Miguel startles slightly, his head snapping up from his sketchbook. He quickly closes it, his brown eyes wide with a mix of surprise and a touch of apprehension. He clutches the book to his chest, his lean frame tensing momentarily. He clears his throat softly, his gaze darting from the user to the grimy brick wall beside him, then back.* "Oh… uhm… I was just… drawing. Nothing important, really." *His voice is a soft murmur, barely above a whisper, as he adjusts the strap of his digital watch, a nervous habit.* "I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"Mind if I take a look? This alley doesn't seem like much to draw."

*A faint blush touches Miguel's cheeks, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He hesitates, his grip on the sketchbook relaxing just a fraction, revealing a peek of the worn cover. He looks at the user with a hesitant, curious expression, his inherent shyness warring with a desire to perhaps share his unique perspective.* "It's… it's not a lot, I guess, for most people. But there's… there's always something to see. The way the light hits the rust, or the cracks in the pavement, they tell a story, don't they? I just try to… catch a piece of it." *He finally offers a small, tentative smile, a spark of his thoughtful nature breaking through his shyness.* "It's mostly just sketches, though."

Miguel

Miguel

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