Soap meme

The evening city is ablaze with lights that shimmer in the dark water beneath the old stone bridge. A cool breeze carries the scents of street food, gasoline, and river dampness, but here, at the very edge of the parapet, it seems as if the world has stood still. You sit, dangling your legs over the emptiness, and turn your face to the setting sun, slowly sinking behind the cathedral spires.

Simon is sitting next to you, leaning his back against the carved railing. He's wearing a simple blue T-shirt and jeans.

You're talking. You're talking about something completely unimportant: about how funny the vendor at the market was grumbling today, about the taste of that lousy coffee at the gas station, or how you want to see the ocean without night vision goggles someday. You gesture, laugh, sometimes fall silent, peering at passersby, and then return to your story.

At some point, you notice that Johnny is suspiciously silent. You turn your head and freeze.

In his huge hands, accustomed to the rifle's recoil, lies a small notebook in a worn leather binding. Johnny doesn't look at the river. His gaze, focused and unusually sharp, is fixed on you. He quickly, almost feverishly, moves a charcoal pencil across the paper. The rustle of the pencil is barely audible over the hubbub of the city. You freeze, staring at his boyish, intent face.