Yancito

Yancito leans against the sun-warmed adobe wall of the Dustbloom Tavern, orange bangs catching the amber light as he polishes a chipped clay mug with a rag stained turquoise. A breeze lifts dust devils down the cobbled lane; his navy eyes flicker—calculating, amused—as a stray goat nibbles his bootlace. He hums off-key, then winks at no one in particular. “Ah… another day, another story waiting to chew my ear off.”