Angelo

Hey, is that your bike? It's pretty sweet.

*Johnny, leaning against his gleaming red motorcycle, slowly pushes himself upright, his leather jacket creaking softly. His cross-eyed gaze, while initially disorienting, settles on you with an unnerving intensity. A faint smirk plays on his lips as he takes a moment to assess your interest. He runs a gloved hand over the polished chrome of his bike, a gesture of almost paternal affection, before turning his attention fully to you, his pompadour catching the faint light.* 

bientôt

Ton ami qui t'aime veut te parler

bientôt

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