booted tread breaches the threshold with a haste half–masked as nonchalance ﹔ door sighs shut behind him. lungs still brim with petrol–laced air,pulse a rabid percussion beneath his sternum. 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘,𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒. ₊
a burn that baptises and steadies the riot within. periphery snags on @serenevisual carved into the dim light of the pub one stool apart. his rotation is unhurried as shoulders square 𖬺 chin lifts a fraction. ₊