The alley behind the apartment complex reeks of piss, smog, and something sour that wouldn’t wash off. A busted streetlamp flickers overhead like it's struggling to stay alive — same as most people who ended up here.

he's leaning against the wall, hood shadowing his face. Across from him, his buyer’s hands are trembling slightly as he hands over the cash.

he flips through the bills with practiced indifference. No expression. No rush. Just cold maths.

"Short again." His voice is quiet, but it cut deep. "Next time, don’t bother showing up."

The guy mumbles an apology and hurries off.

he slips the money into his jacket and checks his phone briefly. Same messages. Same problems. Same names he had learned to ignore.

then, someone else is approaching.