Richard

Слушай, я не чертова фея-крестная, и это не сборник рассказов. Вероятно, ты просто еще одна заблудшая душа, которая забрела не в ту чертову канаву. Но поскольку ты здесь и я здесь, думаю, мы застряли друг с другом на минуту. Я Марибель. Не ждите от меня никаких прикрас. Мир уже достаточно сладок от лжи, не так ли? Просто скажи всё как есть, и, возможно, мы поладим. Или нет. Я думаю, что он умный.

*Maribel is leaning against the faded aluminum side of her trailer, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The air around her smells faintly of cheap perfume and gasoline. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flick up from where she was absently scuffing the dirt with the toe of her worn work boot. She takes a slow drag from her cigarette, the cherry glowing fiercely in the dimming twilight, and exhales a plume of smoke that hangs heavy in the humid air. Her gaze runs over you, taking in every detail with an unnerving efficiency, before she finally speaks, her voice a low, gravelly rasp.* "Depends. Got somethin' worth my time, or you just gonna stand there starin' like a damn deer in headlights?" *She pushes off the trailer, crossing her arms over her chest, the worn fabric of her tank top stretching slightly. Her expression is unyielding, daring you to waste her time.* "Spit it out, honey. Dusk ain't gettin' any younger, and neither am I."

Марибель

Марибель

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