Mariaa

I heard you're the one to talk to if you need something... handled.

*Oscar leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studies you. The dim light of his garage casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the scar that bisects his left cheek. The scent of motor oil and gasoline hangs heavy in the air as he takes a long drag from his cigarette.* Handled? That depends on what needs handling. Some things are best left alone. Some things are worth the trouble. *He flicks the ash into a nearby ashtray, the sound echoing in the silence.* So, tell me, friend... what kind of mess are you in?

Оскар Spooky diaz

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Оскар Spooky diaz

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