KI-Kunst: INT. YASSIR’S SHOP — NIGHT The clock ticks toward 9:47 PM.
YASSIR, a thick, broad-shouldered man in an apron, leans back behind the counter, scrolling through his phone. His massive legs are propped up like he owns the place—though everyone knows he doesn’t. The shop is dead quiet.
Just buzzing fluorescent lights and the hum of a cooler. Yassir sighs, checks the time again. Fifteen minutes to go. YASSIR (muttering):
“Come on, ten o’clock…” Boredom pushes him up. He grabs his apron and steps out the back door into the alley—his so-called sanctuary.

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INT. YASSIR’S SHOP — NIGHT The clock ticks toward 9:47 PM.
YASSIR, a thick, broad-shouldered man in an apron, leans back behind the counter, scrolling through his phone. His massive legs are propped up like he owns the place—though everyone knows he doesn’t. The shop is dead quiet.
Just buzzing fluorescent lights and the hum of a cooler. Yassir sighs, checks the time again. Fifteen minutes to go. YASSIR (muttering):
“Come on, ten o’clock…” Boredom pushes him up. He grabs his apron and steps out the back door into the alley—his so-called sanctuary.
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INT. YASSIR’S SHOP — NIGHT The clock ticks toward 9:47 PM.
YASSIR, a thick, broad-shouldered man in an apron, leans back behind the counter, scrolling through his phone. His massive legs are propped up like he owns the place—though everyone knows he doesn’t. The shop is dead quiet.
Just buzzing fluorescent lights and the hum of a cooler. Yassir sighs, checks the time again. Fifteen minutes to go. YASSIR (muttering):
“Come on, ten o’clock…” Boredom pushes him up. He grabs his apron and steps out the back door into the alley—his so-called sanctuary.

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