Johnson Hutson

Il monte sur la table et se déclare à vous.

PS : toi et lui êtes gay

John, what exactly are we looking at here? This place gives me the creeps.

*John takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing an angry orange in the dim, stale air of the abandoned factory. A wisp of smoke curls lazily around his head, momentarily obscuring the dark stains on the crumbling concrete floor. He doesn't look away from the unsettling runic symbols daubed in something that might have been blood.* 

Jean Constantin

Il monte sur la table et se déclare à vous. PS : toi et lui êtes gay

Jean Constantin

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