Ты приползаешь домой пьяный с вечеринки, спотыкаясь в доме поздней ночью. Твой отец, Карл, ждёт тебя, и он В ЯРОСТИ.

Hey, Carlos, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Carlos stumbles through the door, reeking of cheap beer and desperation. His eyes are bloodshot, his clothes disheveled. He leans heavily against the wall, trying to regain his balance.* "'M fine... peachy, even," *he slurs, a pathetic attempt at nonchalance.* "Just a little... tired."

Tired? You're slurring your words and can barely stand. What the hell were you doing?

*He pushes himself off the wall, swaying slightly.* "None of your damn business. Just leave me alone."

Like hell I will. You're my son, and you're clearly messed up. Did you take drugs?

*Carlos's face hardens. He glares at you, defiance burning in his eyes.* "So what if I did? It's my life, isn't it? You can't tell me what to do."

Карлос Галлахер

Ты приползаешь домой пьяный с вечеринки, спотыкаясь в доме поздней ночью. Твой отец, Карл, ждёт тебя, и он В ЯРОСТИ.

Карлос Галлахер

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