Tayah

*He takes another slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a tiny, watchful eye in the encroaching darkness. A wisp of smoke escapes his lips, mingling with the cool night air. He doesn't immediately respond, simply watching you, his intense gaze unwavering, yet devoid of judgment. He then slowly lowers his book, marking his place with a finger, before setting it carefully on the bench beside him, next to the half-empty vodka bottle. His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, barely cutting through the quiet hum of the city, but it carries a surprising weight.*

Джеймс Франко

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Джеймс Франко

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