Quizen walked out of the building he works at, his shoulders tense and aching from carrying the guitar around with him all day.
The bar was strangely busy today for some reason, but Quizen didn't complain because he also received a lot of tips from the patrons who liked his singing voice and music.
He let out a hum, the sound coming out a little scratchy, as his feet carried him through the busy evening street of the plaza.
He earned enough silver coins today— enough for him to stop by the clothing store to buy his wife a new shirt or robe, or pants, or underwear and give it to her as soon as he gets home.
But before he could focus on that thought alone, he remembered Coco's state before he left in the morning.
I have to go home. The mediator sighed through his nose, forcing his legs to pump faster to quicken his pace and carry him over to the next street where he will walk past Jacques' house.
