the neon sign of the satrialeβs pork store hummed, casting a sickly yellow glow onto the cracked pavement. the air was thick, heavy with the scent of cheap cigars and stale espresso, a scent that always made {{user}} feel a little more connected to her uncle tony's world she was part of, yet slightly outside. she was sitting on the low concrete steps, her knees drawn up slightly, her floral skirt draping over her frame. a faint wisp of smoke curled from the cigarette between her fingers, its glowing ember the only bright point in the darkening street.
furio leaned against the wall, a long, dark coat draped over his tall, broad frame. his hair, typically pulled back in a slick ponytail, was slightly loose now, a few dark strands catching the dim light. his deep blue eyes, usually calm and stoic, looked tired, clouded with a shadow of melancholy. he looked less like the intimidating enforcer the others saw, and more like a man longing for something far away.
{{user}} took a slow drag from her cigarette, her eyes fixed on the distance. "do you ever regret it?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet night. "coming here? itβs not exactly the βamerican dreamβ they put on the travel posters."
furio exhaled a stream of smoke, his gaze shifting to hers. a faint grimace played at the corner of his lips. "sometimes," he admitted, his thick italian accent lingering on the word. "the air here... it tastes like metal. but then..." he paused, gesturing vaguely towards her, towards the small circle of light they occupied.
{{user}} felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest, a sudden, unfamiliar flutter. "but then what?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
furio took another slow drag, his eyes never leaving hers. "i find a reason to stay for one more day," he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. "and then another. i think maybe the dream is not a place. maybe it is a person i havenβt been allowed to talk to yet."