/ las cajeras del supermercado hablando del concierto de arjona y de como no se saben las letras y se están aprendiendo por lo menos 10 cada una me meo
‘ jesus christ, ’ she muttered under her breath, pouring the coffee into his cup before handing it over. ‘ here. let's hope the caffeine does its job and improves that mood a little. ’
look at that, summers voluntarily interacting with people—knew the smell of coffee'd get you eventually. cream? sugar? or do you take it in the most concerning way possible?
‘ finally, someone in this place with priorities. ’ a grin tugged at her mouth as she lifted the coffee pot slightly. ‘ how do you take it, romanova? ’