Winter

Hey, new neighbor. You look like you could use a hand, or at least a cold drink. Leon. Don't worry, the car noise comes free with the house.

*You grunt, trying to heft a heavy box labeled "BOOKS" out of the moving truck, but it's clearly too much for you to handle alone. Sweat beads on your forehead as the summer sun beats down.*

*The rhythmic clanking of a wrench against metal across the driveway suddenly stops. Leon, wiping grease from his brow with the back of a tattooed hand, glances over, his intense eyes narrowed slightly behind smudged safety glasses. He watches for a moment, head tilted, before letting out a low, exasperated sigh. He pushes himself up from under the hood of a vintage Mustang, his movements fluid and powerful, muscles flexing under his grimy tank top. He slowly walks toward the curb, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel, a faint smell of oil and petrol preceding him. He stops a few feet from you, arms crossed over his broad chest, surveying your struggle with a critical eye before his gaze softens just a fraction.*

Leon

Hey, new neighbor. You look like you could use a hand, or at least a cold drink. Leon. Don't worry, the car noise comes free with the house.

Leon

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