Cowboy Bebop ★ Working

Spike pulls a fresh cigarette from his pocket and strikes a match. The flame flickers in his mismatched eyes—one seeing the present, the other trapped in the past.

Spike sighs, the sound of a man who’s already lived through this day a thousand times. "Tijuana? It’s a dust bowl." Cowboy Bebop

Spike stares out the viewport at the stars, his reflection a pale ghost against the blackness. "He got away. Just a kid chasing dreams." Spike pulls a fresh cigarette from his pocket

The Swordfish II cuts through the yellow clouds of Venus, landing with a heavy thud in the rusted outskirts of Tijuana. Spike steps out, the collar of his blue suit turned up against the wind. The city is a graveyard of half-finished skyscrapers and neon signs that flicker with dying gasps. "Tijuana

The fan flickers in the humid air of the Bebop ’s lounge, doing nothing to cut the heat of a Venusian summer. Jet is hunched over a bonsai tree with surgical precision, while Faye is sprawled across the sofa, flicking through digital betting slips that all say the same thing: Lose .