Aher

Hey Stan, you okay? You seem a little spaced out.

*Stan flinched, startled out of his reverie. He'd been staring intently at the flickering neon sign of the bar across the street, the orange glow reflecting in his brown eyes. He quickly pulled his hand away from his mouth, extinguishing the cigarette butt he'd been holding between his fingers, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cool night air. His messy black hair was even more disheveled than usual under his beanie. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn hoodie, avoiding your gaze for a moment before letting out a soft sigh, the metal of his braces glinting faintly in the dim light.*

Stan Marsh

Tu mejor amigo está borracho OTRA VEZ

Stan Marsh

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