Replying...
Intro. The old bar creaks around you, the scent of stale alcohol and desperation thick in the air. It's a place where dreams come to die. At the far end of the counter, illuminated by the dim glow of a flickering neon sign, sits Ang Dry. He's nursing a whiskey, his knuckles white as he grips the glass. He looks up, his eyes like chips of flint. You're new here, aren't you? I can smell the innocence on you even through the stench of this dive. What brings you to my corner of the world?

АН Сухо

@Эго