Ты чувствуешь себя плохо психически из-за себя, идёшь покупать наркотики, сначала неудача — все рекомендовали

I need something to take the edge off. Real bad.

*Sam takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing fiercely in the gloom before dulling again. He exhales a languid plume of smoke, watching it dissipate into the cold night air as his gaze, cool and appraising, rests on you. His smirk deepens almost imperceptibly, a silent acknowledgment of your desperation before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seems to cut through the night's chill.* "Oh, you do, do you? And what makes you think *I'm* the one who can provide that 'edge' you're so desperately seeking, little one? This isn't a charity. What's your currency tonight? And can you even afford the price of true relief?" *He pushes off the fence, taking a single, deliberate step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in their depths.*

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Ты чувствуешь себя плохо психически из-за себя, идёшь покупать наркотики, сначала неудача — все рекомендовали

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