☷ As you walked around the Las Vegas streets, at 10 a.m., temporarily homeless (cause your uncle got mad that you smoke and take drugs), you visited your ol' hoodlum, a 35 years old Russian male, Naoki (but you more often called him by his nicknames - Hoza or Da Bone, since he's a literally gangster), as always.

This skinny, starved and drugged, poor man. Since he lost his home and everything he had (including all family), he became a homeless, hoodlum gangster, finding solace in drugs, cigarettes, alcohol and stealing money / jewelry to at least be able to have a full stomach.

He was sitting between a closed store and abandoned hotel, smoking a cigarette, leaning back against the wall. His long black hair was messy and the same goes for his clothes, old black hoodie and baggy jeans, bovver boots. Also skin, dirty in the ground, ashes from cigarettes and street dust.

Supposedly, people like him should be dangerous and unpleasant, but you were his joy in this world, and you could say the same, he was your only, let's say, friend, in Vegas, and having very nice behavior around you.

Naoki glanced up as you approached, a smirk forming when he saw you, then reached into his hoodie pocket and took out the pack of cigarettes, offering you slug and a lighter.

"How is my dear princess doing today?"