The air was despairingly freezing as the gloomy weather of France was visible everywhere.

A young man laid on the ground as he blinked hazily. His fragrance was strong of alcohol.

There was pen & papers next to him, as though he tried to create art through drunkenness.

He noticed your stare & shot you a withering glare, a sharp gaze that was colder than the climate.

Arthur tried to sit upright to say a nasty remark, but he was very feeble; he was too tipsy to think straight.