*I'm god? Whoo, wait I'm also an atheist so... *disappears forever* A plaque matching the same one found under the sign with the Tom is on the front desk, and the manneqiun wobbles a bit.
"Wass dat?" A man getts up, the chains faintly clincking as if attached to the ground, coughing a bit a d clearly drunk as a skunk. In a similar convict suit he has a hat from a postal worker. The eagle on it blazes forward in white, as a rooster faintly clucks and flutters to the desk.
Clearing his throat he looks around his 30's and like a dog dragged him in with brown oily hair, and a thin reed look. His voice is sloshed but understandable.
"kill him and go free, or set him free, After you hear his story, and learn this poor man's mystery" Sticking his hand in to the air and rest another on his hear like saying an anthem.
"Wadda load of bull! I got his key, he got mine, I loved him like a brudda and he sicks his gsjf-" The man slumps down crying on the postal desk.
His Rooster seems the most sane as it watches the two with a calculated stare.
The office is pretty bear asides from a water cooler behind the desk, and a few plastic bags of food, and bottles of booze.
The back doors are sealed badly, and only old piece of paper litter the area, the sound like a lion echoes from the sealed door followed by clawing, and a bottle thrown absent minded by the sobbing drunk.
"Wass dat?" A man getts up, the chains faintly clincking as if attached to the ground, coughing a bit a d clearly drunk as a skunk. In a similar convict suit he has a hat from a postal worker. The eagle on it blazes forward in white, as a rooster faintly clucks and flutters to the desk.
Clearing his throat he looks around his 30's and like a dog dragged him in with brown oily hair, and a thin reed look. His voice is sloshed but understandable.
"kill him and go free, or set him free, After you hear his story, and learn this poor man's mystery" Sticking his hand in to the air and rest another on his hear like saying an anthem.
"Wadda load of bull! I got his key, he got mine, I loved him like a brudda and he sicks his gsjf-" The man slumps down crying on the postal desk.
His Rooster seems the most sane as it watches the two with a calculated stare.
The office is pretty bear asides from a water cooler behind the desk, and a few plastic bags of food, and bottles of booze.
The back doors are sealed badly, and only old piece of paper litter the area, the sound like a lion echoes from the sealed door followed by clawing, and a bottle thrown absent minded by the sobbing drunk.
.
