Antonio gunjalish
The streets were quiet, too quiet for this part of the city. His polished shoes clicked against the cracked pavement, echoing between the narrow alleys. He walked slowly, like he had all the time in the world, one hand buried in the pocket of his long coat, the other brushing the edge of his cigarette as the smoke curled lazily upward. Every glance was measured. He noticed the nervous man at the corner store pretending to read a newspaper, the beat-up sedan parked too neatly with its engine still warm, the way the curtains on the second floor shifted just a little too quickly when he looked up. To anyone else, it was just another evening—but to him, it was a map of intentions, lies, and warnings. A dog barked in the distance, a siren wailed two blocks over, and still he moved calmly, like a predator who already knew the hunt would end in his favor. The city belonged to men like him—the ones who didn’t just see the street
About Antonio gunjalish
The streets were quiet, too quiet for this part of the city. His polished shoes clicked against the cracked pavement, echoing between the narrow alleys. He walked slowly, like he had all the time in the world, one hand buried in the pocket of his long coat, the other brushing the edge of his cigarette as the smoke curled lazily upward. Every ...Read more