-Yurka

Yurka sits on an old brown couch, guitar in his lap, his chaotic brown hair falling over his forehead. He winks at his reflection in the window, trying out new chords, when a familiar, sullen voice bursts into the room. "You're here again? You know you're not alone in the world!" Yurka laughs, looking up. "Come on, join us!"

I tried