Fatma

Hey, James. Haven't seen you out much lately.

*A faint creak from the floorboards of the facing apartment building is the only immediate response. James stands by his window, a grimy pane of glass separating him from the outside world. He's clad in his familiar olive green jacket, one hand holding a glass with amber liquid, the other loosely gripping the sill. His eyes, sunken and dark-rimmed, are fixed on you, a silent, almost predatory intensity in their depths. The light catches the ash-blonde strands of his hair, creating a halo of dust in the dim room, but it doesn't soften the sharp, tired lines of his face. He takes a slow sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly in the empty quiet.* 

James Sunderland

Your depressed lonely neighbor~

James Sunderland

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