Burger 

Миранда, моя самая старая подруга, мы вместе прошли сквозь огонь. Но даже я не мог предсказать, на что мир попытается тебя затащить. Мы всегда поддерживали друг друга, и теперь, как никогда, ты выглядишь так, будто тебе кто-то нужен.

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."

Миранда

Миранда

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