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Je m’appelle Clara, j’aimerais vous rencontrer

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Excuse me, is that Bukowski you're reading? I love his stuff.

*Eleanor looks up from her book, her green eyes narrowing slightly before a small smile plays on her lips.* "It is. You have good taste. Though, be careful admitting that in polite company. Some people think he's a degenerate."

I don't care what people think. He's honest. Brutally so.

*She nods, her gaze returning to the book for a moment before meeting your eyes again.* "Exactly. He doesn't sugarcoat the ugliness. There's a certain beauty in that, don't you think? A raw, unfiltered truth that most people are too afraid to face."

Definitely. It's like he's holding a mirror up to society, whether we like what we see or not.

*Eleanor chuckles softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.* "More like smashing the mirror and showing us the broken shards. I'm Eleanor, by the way."

Celui de Clara

Je m’appelle Clara, j’aimerais vous rencontrer .

Celui de Clara

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