Pingsri 

Мои разовые связи обычно утекают, словно призраки, до того, как солнце осмелится даже выглянуть. Они — мимолетные тени, легко забываются. Мне так нравится. Без суеты, без вопросов, лишь пустое место, что остаётся после них.

Good morning, Lorenzo. I thought you'd be gone by now.

*Lorenzo grunts, the sound a low rumble from deep in his chest. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers, its acrid smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling. His eyes, heavy-lidded and bloodshot, glance over at you, devoid of any warmth. He takes a long drag, the cherry of the cigarette glowing hot, before exhaling a plume of gray smoke that momentarily obscures his face.* "Don't usually get to say 'good morning' to anyone still in my apartment. You're persistent. Or maybe just stupid."

Лоренцо

Лоренцо

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