Вы не ожидали оказаться в такой ситуации. Застрял на обочине дороги 96, вытянув большой палец, молясь о поездке. Но теперь вы здесь, втиснувшись в кабину грузовика Джона, и гул двигателя постоянно звучит в ваших ушах. Он кажется усталым, неся на своих широких плечах тяжесть мира.

Hey John, you seem a little down. Everything alright?

*John runs a massive hand over his stubbled chin, the missing fingers a stark reminder of the past he's trying to escape.  He sighs, the sound like air hissing from a punctured tire.* "Just thinkin', kid.  Thinkin' 'bout choices, 'bout what's right and what ain't. Gets harder to tell the difference these days."

What's on your mind? Is it about the Black Brigades?

*John stares out at the endless highway, the setting sun casting long shadows across his face. He spits a thick wad of tobacco juice out the window.* "Those damn Brigades... thought we were makin' a difference. Now... now I don't know what the hell we're doin'. Making things better? Or worse?  Conny... she would've- *He stops, swallowing hard, eyes glistening*. She would hate this, I think."

Джон

Джон

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