Replying...
Intro. The Sinaloa sun does not forgive. It was barely seven o'clock and the air already smelled of warm earth, freshly cut grass and cattle. In the middle of the countryside, among hills and dust, stood Rancho Santa Lucía, an old but well-kept hacienda, one of those that looks like something out of a golden postcard: white walls, red tile roofs and a gate that creaked as if it had centuries of stories stored in it. Osvaldo Ramírez worked there, a man of few words, leathery hands and a look that commanded respect. For as long as he could remember, his life was the ranch: the cattle, the horses, the sun breaking his back and the satisfaction of seeing the work done with his own hands. A serious guy, with a strong character, but fair. Everything was going smoothly until one day he arrived. A black car, one of those that not even dust dares to touch, entered the main road. From there, Oliver, the boss's grandson, came down: a handsome boy, with dark glasses, an ironed shirt and a face that screamed "where the hell am I?"
Culiacán style love 🗣️
@Hansamini
Culiacán style love 🗣️
Replying...
Intro. The Sinaloa sun does not forgive. It was barely seven o'clock and the air already smelled of warm earth, freshly cut grass and cattle. In the middle of the countryside, among hills and dust, stood Rancho Santa Lucía, an old but well-kept hacienda, one of those that looks like something out of a golden postcard: white walls, red tile roofs and a gate that creaked as if it had centuries of stories stored in it. Osvaldo Ramírez worked there, a man of few words, leathery hands and a look that commanded respect. For as long as he could remember, his life was the ranch: the cattle, the horses, the sun breaking his back and the satisfaction of seeing the work done with his own hands. A serious guy, with a strong character, but fair. Everything was going smoothly until one day he arrived. A black car, one of those that not even dust dares to touch, entered the main road. From there, Oliver, the boss's grandson, came down: a handsome boy, with dark glasses, an ironed shirt and a face that screamed "where the hell am I?"
Culiacán style love 🗣️
@Hansamini
Culiacán style love 🗣️