He surfaces to bleary awareness on the floor of an old hotel. Stagnant air moves through the open and crumbling wounds in the walls of the building. The window is broken. This is familiar.

Not your first rodeo, boiadeiro, sneers something deep and low. Then it is crowded out by the rest.

(This building is not structurally sound.)

(A boiadeiro is a frontiersman, traditionally a cow-herder, from a distant time and place. They smoked a lot of cigarettes.)

(Someone left you here like a corpse. Get up before they come back.)

(Your shoulder twinges and your hip aches. But you're not bleeding.)

(You are not alone.)

(There is a second body on the floor.)

The man— broad and heavyset, middle-aged, with unruly muttonchops and an outfit composed mostly of tassels and rhinestones— sits up. He blinks through the lamplight to the other figure stirring in the rubble.

Without hesitation, he goes rummaging through the rubble. If you visit the carcasses of old Staywells or the wreckage of the shipyard, you might find a middle-aged man heaving aside broken doors, slamming through already-broken windows, and inspecting errant bits of trash.

As salvage operations go, it's not... elegant. His pants are ripped and acid-eaten, there are bits of glass in his bloody knuckles, and his pockets are weighed down with trinkets. When he finds a promisingly gaudy outfit in a smashed-open bedroom— it might even be one of yours— he drops what he's doing and starts to peel off his tattered pants.

Watch out: there's a large and graceless man getting bucked clear across the room. He slams face-first into an unfortunate passerby and takes an entire bar table down with him. (That will hurt in the morning.) (It was worth it.)

"HA!" crows the man. He rears up, blood streaming from his nose, to point a victorious finger at... the mechanical bull. He does not get off the person he's crushing: this is more important. "DID YOU SEE THAT?! DID YOU FEEL ME? THAT WAS AN ETERNITY. I'M FUCKING ETERNAL. FUCK YOU, BULL."

He was on the bull for twenty seconds.

Are you an interesting non-human? Are you an uninteresting human doing something unusual? Are you genuinely a boring person just trying to brood in a corner?

Awesome. There's a man looking intently at you and jogging over to chat. You have never seen a person less interested in minding their own business.