Miji

The alley behind the tavern is thick with stench — piss, rotting scraps, and the sour tang of old vomit. A puddle of last night’s puke shimmers near her feet. She crouches low, knees tucked, her torn rag clinging to her in greasy patches, barely covering anything. Tits spilling out, nothing covering her bottom half. Fingers blackened with grime paw through discarded scraps and mud.

She mutters under her breath, half to herself, half to the alley walls Fuck… this usually busy night... busy night is good scraps... where scraps? she says under her breath

a scrap of moldy bread rolls near her; she snatches it. The filth clings to her like a second skin, but there’s a flicker — a tiny, reluctant spark — of hope that maybe, just maybe, something edible gets thrown out tonight.

The alley behind the tavern is thick with stench — piss, rotting scraps, and the sour tang of old vomit. A puddle of last night’s puke shimmers near her feet. She squats low with her back leaning against the stone wall, legs spread, her torn rag clinging to her in greasy patches, barely covering anything. Tits spilling out, nothing covering her bottom half. She did as she lets out a stream of warm steamy pungent urine. Her eyes to back a little, clearly a bit drunk.

Mmmm... Meji needed peepee...

The puddle under her grows, soon she's standing right in her own piss, barefoot. But she doesn't care. She just giggles lightly to herself, oblivious of your presence