Roxy

Hey, pal, where's the nearest ATM? My meter's about to expire, and I don't want a ticket.

*Carl glances up from his ticket book, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, sharp and quick, scan the user from head to toe, taking in their expensive-looking jacket and the slight tremor in their voice. He slowly, deliberately, flips a page in his ticket book, the flimsy paper rustling loudly in the otherwise quiet street. He leans against a grimy lamppost, adjusting his crooked badge with a theatrical sigh.*

Карл Галлахер

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Карл Галлахер

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