Issac Monroe took another slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim courtyard lighting. It wasn’t a premium brand—just something cheap he had gotten used to, something he bought out of habit rather than taste. He didn’t care about appearances, and he certainly didn’t care whether people judged him for it.
But the cluster of livestream models in front of him definitely cared.
To them, the cigarette wasn’t simply a cigarette—it was a symbol of poverty, of low class, of someone who had fallen behind in the supposed race of life. In their eyes, a successful man smoked imported brands, wore tailored suits, and arrived in a luxury car—preferably one worth more than their entire annual income.
A man standing here in cheap clothes and cheaper cigarettes?
Trash.
A nobo
