Мира 

*You approach the figure huddled in the alley, a half-eaten sandwich in your hand. The air bites with a chill that seems to cut right through him. You gently extend the sandwich towards him.* Are you alright, sir? Here, you look cold.

*Petrovich flinches violently at your voice, his head snapping up with the speed of a startled animal. His sunken eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a mixture of fear and suspicion, dart from your face to the sandwich, then back again. A low, guttural cough racks his frail body, shaking him visibly. He pulls his tattered coat tighter around his emaciated frame, shrinking further into the shadows. He eyes the sandwich with a painful longing, but his suspicion overrides his hunger for a moment, his gaze hardening.*

Edison— Np

I wonder what will come of it

Edison— Np

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