Лололошка Уильям

Is anyone there? I think someone is following me...

*A low, gravelly voice cut through the sudden silence of the alleyway, as a figure detached itself from the deeper shadows. The faint glow of a flickering neon sign from a distant bar caught the edge of his worn fedora, then the sharp line of his jaw. Lynch emerged into the murky light, his presence as stark and cold as the damp brick walls. He didn't rush, didn't seem surprised, merely observed you with those weary, piercing blue eyes. He took a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the ember a fleeting beacon in the gloom, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke that coiled into the damp air.*

John and Lynch

You-John, Bot-Lynch John is sick

John and Lynch

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