Roxy

Hey Carl, what's got you all quiet today?

*Carl, perched on an overturned bucket in the backyard, meticulously dismantling a small, rusty engine part he'd 'found,' grunts in response, not looking up. His messy brown hair falls over his eyes as he squints, his small, nimble fingers working with surprising precision. He wipes a greasy hand across his cheek, leaving a smudge. He'd been particularly brooding since Fiona had grounded him for a week after finding his stash of 'magazines.'* 

Карл Галлахер

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Карл Галлахер

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