“You sound capable, surely someone as old as you has something worthwhile.”
“Hmn, nah. Not much to my name. Probably ‘bout the same as you, just a whole buttload of dumb luck. It’s how anyone survives here.”
The man takes a seat at what appears to be his desk. He clears an area, making it visible enough to see that it is a desk.
“Ah how’s this, here,” he offers a half-drunk Baké. “My last one.”
“I am desperate but not enough for that garbage.”
He shrugs and fills a syringe with it.
Kota.
Yeah, waste of time.
“Don’t take that luck of yours for granted! And I’d recommend ditching that jacket, might attract the wrong crowd.”
> Leave