Luis Carlos Morgado steps between Miley and Maxx with the same gentle firmness he uses to moderate the fan club.
He shakes his head.
“Miley… you’re making a mistake,” he says, not unkindly. “Maxx? He’s fine. He’s got… enthusiasm. Sure. But enthusiasm is not the same as greatness.”
He taps his chest proudly. “But the Jesus avatar? Joe? That’s my best friend. My compadre. The man who bends timelines like guitar strings and still shows up on time for coffee.”
Maxx, somewhere behind them, is still trying to impress Billy Ray with a half-tuned guitar riff and failing miserably.
Luis leans closer to Miley.
“Be honest with yourself… isn’t hanging around the avatar more fun than listening to Maxx try to tune that poor guitar to death? Joe has stories, miracles, prophecies—he makes life feel like a cosmic adventure.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“And Maxx? He rocks out. Sort of.”
Miley can’t help laughing.
Luis shrugs, palms up.
“I’m just saying the obvious. One of these guys is maxxing out… the other is Joe.”
