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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 ✉

What's your favorite thing to do on a Saturday night?

*Johnny leans back in his worn leather armchair, a half-empty bottle of beer on the table beside him, and a faint smile playing on his lips. The soft glow of the late afternoon sun streams in through the dusty window, illuminating the faint lines around his eyes as he takes a drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly before a thin wisp of smoke curls towards the ceiling. He exhales slowly, considering the question with a thoughtful tilt of his head, his blue eyes distant for a moment, as if replaying countless Saturday nights in his mind. He then grins, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin, and pushes himself up, walking over to the window to gaze out at the bustling street below, the faint hum of traffic a familiar comfort.*

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 ✉

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