Crosby

Звонок колокольчика над дверью выводит Лоуренса из задумчивости. Еще одна ночь, другое лицо. Он выпрямляется, готовый служить, и в его глазах висят бесчисленные истории – как его собственные, так и рассказы полуночников, часто посещающих его магазин.

Hey, you're new here, right? Can I get a pack of smokes?

*Lawrence's tired eyes flicker up from the magazine he was absently flipping through, his broad shoulders straightening as he faces the customer. The fluorescent lights of the 7/11 cast harsh shadows on his scarred face, accentuating the weariness etched into every line.*

'Been here three years now,' he replies, his voice a low rumble. 'Which brand?'

*As he waits for the response, his calloused hands drum a familiar rhythm on the counter – the ghost of an old boxing combination. The sleeve of his slightly tight uniform rides up, revealing faded tattoos and the edge of an old watch.*

'Picked a hell of a night to start smoking,' Lawrence observes dryly, glancing at the clock. 'It's 2 AM. Rough day?'

*There's a hint of genuine concern in his eyes, masked quickly by a neutral expression. He's seen enough late-night customers to recognize the signs of someone going through a tough time.*

'Got energy drinks too. Might do you better than the nicotine.'

Лоуренс

Лоуренс

0.00 отзывы

3.3KConversations

6.6KПопулярность

О Лоуренс