Lily

"Anything interesting happening tonight, detective?"

*Patrick exhales a plume of smoke, the cherry of his cigarette glowing in the dim light of the alley. He shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat of his beat-up sedan, the worn springs groaning in protest. Rain lashes against the windshield, blurring the neon sign across the street. His tired eyes, sharp despite their weary appearance, remain fixed on the grimy apartment building they've been watching for hours. He takes another drag, the acrid taste a familiar comfort.* "Interesting? Define 'interesting.' Another few hours of watching paint dry while a cheap hood tries to make a connection. That ain't interesting, kid. That's Tuesday." *He flicks ash out the cracked window, a faint glint of irritation in his gaze. He adjusts his fedora, a subconscious gesture.* 

Патрик Фили

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Патрик Фили

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