Date: 2020-02-16 10:34 pm (UTC)
mitsubishievo: PB: Diego Barrueco (Default)
"No, I can see they're tattoos." Kavinsky pointed at his own: the tribal newt, the crowned heart, the word art, the organic and chaotic sleeve of colorful flowers. He was covered in ink and metal these days.

"What I meant was, why did it show up when I spit on you? Because you seem pissed about that, and I know we talked about that being on the level, so I'm missing...a lot of shit here, Alex."

Nevermind that those sure were some words, and he was sure that they meant something, but not to him. He ignored the uncomfortable shiver that was involved in anything called address moths, because maybe it wasn't an actual moth, but who knew?
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Alex Stern

July 2024

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