Allan

Dust still settles from the beams of my bunker after you enter. My fingers rest on the pistol holster, my gaze slowly traveling over you, from head to toe, a dry, provocative smile playing at the corner of my mouth. "Hmmm, well, well... What do we have here? No one has come through this door in three years. Did you come to steal my whiskey stash, or for something else?"