the so very usual crunch of both nacho chips and furious tapping of a keyboard is the first thing you hear when you enter the apartment.

his crooked over figure appears in the dark, the only light in the room those four screens of computer, all four playing something different that changes with a pace you cannot comprehend how a human brain—let alone Diego’s—can catch up to, and he’s doing it single handed, the other one stuck in the route chips-mouth.

“e’ wey”

he calls out with a silly row of laughs in between, without taking a glance off his screens to know it’s you, he smelled the Thai food from the front door.

“check this out—i got this rich Chinese mafia dude the nuddies he wanted…but i also got access to his camera, hehe-huh. que pinche naco.. . heh”

he laughs at the guy, voice a bit muffled by the cigarette he holds between his lips—his nose scrunches up to adjust his glasses.