Cold

Sitting by the bar and still drinking slowly, Mia was peering at everything what was going on. Music was very... bad, and, in addition, someone came to Brokhin’s table. It was a man, could be said – hot man, but not very – with one word, he was ‘mediocre’, like all men in the street.

One of russian dealer’s bodyguards hit that ‘normal’ man... Well, maybe that’s his way of greeting, or so. ‘It must have hurt...’ – she thought and grimace of pain appeared on her face, weird unconditional impulse.

Instinctively, Mia looked around the place, that she, unfortunately, had to be in. It wasn't fine, it wasn't pretty, it was terrible! At least for someone like Mia LeBeau.

And Rachel... She didn’t look like somebody nice, but... Don’t judge book by its cover.
- Yeah, at least something began to happen... – she whispered to the woman sitting next to her, and smiled – maybe this night is going to be more exciting.

 

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Jaka, sądzisz, jest biblia cygańska?
Niepisana, wędrowna, wróżebna.
Naszeptała ją babom noc srebrna,
Naświetliła luna świętojańska.