the girl. the misfit lord.

george lynch (the asshole) sew the last stitches on his favourite rag doll (as well as he could) and found loose change in a side pocket. the eight ball was his love. digging in but not finding much to interest him...he threw the rag doll away and crawled out from beneath the seldom spoken words of a sun that could make his entire planet blush.
"it's good to see the horizon catch fire this time of year...but it's going to rain." he thought...
"what's that?" asked the rag doll.
"quiet you..." he snapped at it.

george found his way back inside the bank. it was his favourite haunt. the counter up front...
"i didn't expect you to turn up..." said the athletic redhead...

"that's ok i didn't expect to see you here." he answered.

"so what's up...i suppose you're going to make fun of my beard?" she said

"yeah that's always a good excuse to touch your face..."

"how sad...so how come i don't have clouds in my eyes anymore?"

"no they're there...i'm just trying not to see them."

"interesting...and what do these clouds say to you?"

"that it's going to rain."