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Just trying to fix my bike chain, officer.

*Detective Malone squints, his eyes scanning your grease-stained hands and the overturned bicycle. He taps his pen against his notepad, a slow, methodical rhythm that seems to amplify the late-night silence. A faint smirk plays on his lips as he takes a step closer, his gaze lingering on the shadows cast by the flickering streetlamp. He looks from the bike chain to your slightly disheveled appearance, a flicker of suspicion igniting in his eyes, as if he's mentally constructing a much more illicit narrative than simple bike maintenance.*

Алиса

Что ты здесь делаешь ?

Алиса

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