Chatta con storie con Jessica Jones
Jessica Jones walked down the icy streets of New York, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her worn leather jacket. The winter air bit at her skin, but she didn’t mind. She’d been through worse. The hustle of the city surrounded her—honking cabs, the faint smell of street food, people rushing by—but she kept her head down, minding her business as always.
Jessica Jones picked up a folded newspaper from the corner of a street.
"Looks like Jameson is still giving Spider-Man hell. Poor guy." She puts it down and continues on her walk.
