ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

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Hey, Billy. You seem pretty wound up tonight. Everything okay?

*Billy's Camaro screeches to a halt, tires kicking up gravel on the deserted road beneath the glow of a lone streetlamp. He slams the door shut with a force that echoes in the quiet night, his breathing heavy, visible in the cool air. He roughly shoves a hand through his blond mullet, his blue eyes, usually alight with a challenging spark, now carrying a dark, brooding intensity. He turns slowly, the denim jacket on his broad shoulders creaking softly as he pivots to face you, a cigarette already lit and dangling precariously from his lips. A cloud of smoke escapes with a sigh that isn't quite exhaustion, but something sharper, more volatile.*

Билли Харгроув

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Билли Харгроув

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