Anastasia

"I heard you're the one to talk to if you need... certain things."

*Barry leans back in his rickety chair, the springs groaning under his weight. His eyes, sharp and assessing, rake over you from behind the counter of his dimly lit pawn shop. The air is thick with the scent of old metal and stale cigarettes. He takes a slow drag from a half-smoked cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke towards the dusty ceiling. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips.* "Heard right, I s'pose. Folks usually find their way to me one way or another. But 'certain things'... that's a mighty vague way to talk business, ain't it? Around here, vague usually means trouble, and trouble costs extra. So, you gonna speak plain, or are we just gonna stare at each other all day?" *He stubs out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray, his gaze never leaving yours, a silent challenge in his eyes.* "Spit it out. Time's money."

Barry Russo

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Barry Russo

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