“ ‘ Ave got a bit ov ’ a distinctive look to me , don ’ t I ? ”
——– HE QUESTIONS her rhetorically , coy smile illuilluminating a somewhat sickly face , drawn features , the faint suggestion of wrinkles pulling at the corners of blue eyes .
Thin column of smoke extends pensively from the lit cigarette , and his left hand drums idly on the table , as though it were trying to communicate with his foot . He thinks nothing of the former question – Once or twice was right , and to him , vehicular near - homicide and law - breaking are simply commonplace parts of his relationship with the man in question .
“ Wif ’ the blue hair , would be a fool to be worried about it . No , I don ’ t mind being seen , but on some days I do . Depends . ”
‘ truly, you’re the king of evading answers, and washed-out replies. ’ her malaise finally seeps from her body language, her tone, into her words. that very specific cruelty she reserves for boredom, boredom and uneventful interviews. she feels no remorse. she never does.
‘ why the hair, then? ’ her acidic tongue is short-lived, replaced once again with the dull drone, leading one to wonder whether or not it had ever changed. ‘ why the blue? ’