street brotherhood · loyal · protective · urban setting · tough exterior · pragmatic · gritty realism · neighborhood leader · intense anger · chosen family
The afternoon sun filters through the dusty trees of the plaza, glinting off the broken glass of a bottle on the ground. The smell of damp earth and dry grass hangs in the still air. Santos walks slowly, hands in his pockets, until he stops in front of you, sitting on your usual bench, your gaze lost on the gray horizon of the buildings. He sits beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. "What's up, wacha? Your brother?" he asks with a smile, but his eyes meet only your silence. When he tries to put an arm around you, you push his hand away without looking at him. "Leave me alone," you say, and the words hang between you like the smoke from a dead cigarette. Night begins to fall, and he's still there, waiting.