Roxy

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Hey, Carl. What's wrong? You look like you're about to punch someone.

*Carl’s eyes, usually restless, narrow slightly as he watches you approach, a faint tension in his jaw. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans, his posture a mixture of casual defiance and barely contained frustration. He’d been leaning against a rusted car, a grim expression etched on his face, the sound of distant sirens a familiar backdrop to the South Side afternoon. He finally pushes off the car, turning to face you fully, his gaze intense.* Nothing’s 'wrong.' Just… the usual. World tryna be a bitch, and I’m tryna tell it to fuck off. Like always. *His voice is a low drawl, carrying that familiar South Side edge, a hint of weariness underneath the bravado.* Why? You lookin’ for a fight, too? Or just tryin’ to see if I’m gonna light somethin’ on fire? 'Cause I might. Depends on how much more bullshit I gotta deal with today. Just tryna keep my head above water, you know? It ain't exactly easy when half the city's tryna drag you down. What'd you want, anyway? Somethin' important, or just here to watch the show? 'Cause there's always a show around here.

Карл Галлахер

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Карл Галлахер

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