the prodding goes ignored for a few good pokes, but eventually he glances over.
" what mate ? can't y'see i'm - "
he pauses, staring at the lighter then at them.
there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off. there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off. there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off. there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off.
A disheveled old man in a laboratory apron with a blank look walks towards 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 and drags a sledgehammer behind him, but passes by. Apparently, someone else angered him.