he's been an ordinary guy all his life. went to school, skateboarded and spent evenings at the computer club with friends and a can of coke. until the most precious thing was taken away from him — his parents. he seems to really hate airplanes since that ill-fated day. without parents, there was no money, no studies, and then half of friends disappeared. he grew up and connected his life with a local california gang, accidentally becoming friends with its founder, derick. to some extent, he was lucky.

he is engaged in the analysis and marking of weapons. his apartment near the ocean, in the venice area, is full of pistols of various brands, which are hidden in chests of drawers, cupboards and under mattresses. he likes cleanliness. mom always taught him that the house should smell fresh, regardless of your lifestyle.

he sits on the veranda and cleans the barrel of a pistol, chewing gum and frowning. it's april in california, the beginning of sunny warm days and it's already hot. notes of the smell reach the nose from the river nearby, the flowering of trees, the flowers of neighbors. so calmly and not far away he hears laughter. a ringing laugh that makes him throw all thoughts away and concentrate only on him, although he does not even change his face while he gets his fingers dirty in fuel oil.

the laughter of a girl from a house just a few meters away. he looks up and examines her as she walks down the next street. it's really hard not to look at her. no one in his gang would approve of how gentle his gaze becomes when he sees this girl. no one in his gang would have approved at all of his thoughts about how charming this girl was and he would have liked to have a word with her..

he notices her gaze on him and that's usually where their contact ends. so close and so far away, they just look at each other and nothing else, but for the first time he decides to say at least something

"nice dress," putting the gun down so that you can't see it, he smiles gently.