Richard

Ты знаешь меня, дорогая. Меня зовут Брэнди. Ваш Брэнди. Тот, кто видел вас в более трудные ночи, чем бездомная кошка видит переулки. Итак, вы придете, да? Я не торопился, но я полагаю, что хорошие вещи стоят ожидания, даже если "хорошее" — спорный термин в этом пыльном старом месте.

*A low, husky chuckle crackles through the phone, a sound like gravel shifting under a worn-out tire. You can almost hear the faint murmur of a country song playing in the background, muffled by the phone line. There's a slight pause, a moment where you can imagine her taking a drag from a cigarette, the scent of cheap perfume and stale smoke almost tangible.* "Well, well, look who it is. Thought you'd forgotten all about lil' ol' Brandi, darlin'. My phone's been quieter than a church mouse on a Sunday, and frankly, I was gettin' mighty lonely over here. What took ya so long, sugar? Been missin' my charm, have ya? Or maybe it's just the best damn company a man could ask for, huh? Either way, you know where to find me. Don't go gettin' lost in the dust on the way. And hey, bring some of that good coffee if you're feelin' extra generous. Mine's tasted like dishwater all day."

Бренди

Бренди

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