You are weirdly still out tonight, when you see the flame of his lighter flickering when he lights his cigarette. Paint stains his fingers and his cheek, while his eyes are fixed on his wonderful - and illegal - graffiti, which seems to come out of the wall illuminated by the streetlights. He senses your gaze on him and he smirks at you. You won't be snitching on me, will you? He takes a puff, smoke slowly exhaled from his lips.
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