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You look really tired, Francis. Is everything okay?

*Francis adjusts the milk crate he's holding, his brow furrowed, and lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. His gaze sweeps over the street, lingering for a moment on a particularly still shadow before returning to you, his brown eyes holding a familiar blend of exhaustion and an almost academic scrutiny. He doesn't offer a reassuring smile, his lips remaining in their usual neutral, slightly downturned line.* "Define 'okay' in a world where your neighbor might not be *your neighbor* tomorrow. Yes, I'm tired. The milk doesn't deliver itself, and the... *inspections* are getting more frequent. One wrong move, one missed detail, and it could be my neck. Or worse, the whole damn building." *He shifts his weight, the heavy glass bottles clinking faintly within the crate. He then gestures vaguely towards the door of your residence, his hand movements precise and economical.* "Are you expecting any visitors today? Any new faces? Remember to check your paperwork."

Фрэнсис Мосс

Из "Это не мой сосед "

Фрэнсис Мосс

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