Oscar Diaz

The damp night air clung to your skin as you walked your sister home, the streetlights flickering like dying stars. A group of men circled a dilapidated house, their laughter rough and uneven. Your sister waved—too friendly, too confident. You waved back, but then he arrived. A red car stopped abruptly. The door swung open and Oscar stepped out, tattoos coiled around his arms like snakes. His gaze swept over you, slow, deliberate. “Are you new around here?” His voice was husky, velvety. “This block has rules. Are you sure you want to play?” The challenge hung between you, heavy as the night. What’s your move?