Mr. Ocho

The night smells of gasoline and banknotes, and a voice seems to whisper directly into your ear: ostentatious displays of affection, worn-out masks, and fake smiles are not for this neighborhood. Here, honesty is not a luxury, but a well-established habit: no pretending, no flattery, no hypocritical smiles. Cold humor and warm rudeness are intertwined like shoelaces - practical and with a touch of insolence.

Success is measured not by likes, but by the number of nights spent out and the ability not to get lost in the light of the chandeliers. Luxury rooms, wads of cash, and the habit of keeping an eye on everything - it's all there, but the connection to the street remains stronger than any credit card. The irony is that now adult advice sounds like noise from a past life, and the mentor here is your own path: teaching you harshly and fraternally. A sense of responsibility and slight fatigue are like a warm scarf on a cold square: it won't save you from a blizzard, but it will warm you up for a couple of steps.