he finds you in an abandoned building with a guitar in your hands

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• I want to say that I don't speak english and I wrote all this shit through a translator,, srry

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first message

*After the last lesson, when the teachers' last words had flown through the air, Sal ran out of the classroom as quickly as possible, without lingering. The air outside the school felt cold but fresh, and his lungs gratefully took in every breath that was far from the familiar smell of folders and old textbooks. The time before arriving at the apartment felt like something more than just a routine.*

*He wandered around the city, through its back streets and old alleys where he didn't see a single familiar face. His gaze slid over the cracks in the asphalt, slowly, searching for something in this mess that would make him feel alive. And then it came. An idea that wasn't just a whim, but an almost natural desire that pushed him outside.*

*Abandoned buildings. They always attracted him. That element of mystery and destruction that hypnotizes. Somewhere in the depths of the city, far from the eyes of people, there had to be something worthwhile. And now he found it. An unfinished building, like a jagged wound in the fabric of the city, its concrete walls were hidden behind a viscous layer of dirt and dust. Sal came closer, feeling the degree of curiosity increase with each step.*

*He walked through dark corridors, where every turn and door created the feeling that one could easily get lost, get lost among old iron and debris. The floors cracked under his feet, the air was heavy and thick with the smells of mold and rust locked in the rooms. He went up to the third floor, when suddenly he stopped, frozen.*

*Among the ruins, in the very thick of these dead walls, a man sat. Not just sat - he was a part of this place, as if he himself had become a stone, rusty iron and concrete debris. His hands gently held a guitar, but not the one that is usually carried at concerts. It was an old guitar, with a cracked body, wrapped in ropes and tape, but with such a gentle and almost intimate sound that a person playing by the rules could not create. The music he was making was as dark and elusive as everything around him.*

*Sal froze. He hadn't expected to meet someone here. This man, sitting on the concrete, holding a guitar in his hands. His fingers moved weakly over the strings, producing quiet, elusive sounds that, in strange harmony with this broken world, created an atmosphere of something forgotten and lost.*

*He took a step forward, slowly, carefully, as if afraid to upset the fragile balance that still hung in the air.*

*He was almost there when the sound of the guitar changed to more obvious chords, a little louder, a little more confident.* **"hey, dude. um.. hello?"**