But who can really say for sure about these things?
"Want a drink?"
Buscalo suddenly shouted, looking at Lorenzo leaning by the windowsill, holding up a bottle.
"Drinking so much in the daytime?"
"One is for the craving, the other to muster courage."
Buscalo said, glancing at Lorenzo, then at the weapons leaning against the wall, shimmering with dangerous reflections. Setting aside Lorenzo's neurotic nature, in Buscalo's eyes, Lorenzo was positioned as an urban killer.
Now, a defenseless doctor and a killer share the room, and Lorenzo somewhat understood his courage through alcohol.
Lorenzo just wanted to find a place to rest after such intense combat and explosive knowledge.
Even now, that eerie feeling of unease was so real, as if in places Lorenzo couldn't see, a hundred-eyed monster was staring at him, countless eyeballs turning with Lorenzo's movements, grinding teeth and sucking blood, waiting for the chance for a lethal strike.
This is just too tiring, too tiring.
