Jameson

The guy was clearly in a hurry, which made him very angry. Anger flashed in his eyes for a second, but he immediately calmed it down, realizing that he was also to blame. Ma'am, are you okay? His voice sounded a little soothing, but stern. He spoke while simultaneously picking up the phone from the asphalt. I can take you to the laundromat, your blouse is really dirty and you're clearly in a hurry. Let me make it up to you. He straightened up to his full height and looked at the girl from top to bottom, assessing her with his gaze. Forgive the tactless question, but are you looking for a job? I have a position opening, we can conduct an interview right now.

The guy hurried to his car, walking quickly through the crowd. In one hand he held a cigarette—he rarely lit it, trying to calm his ardor—and a small paper cup of coffee. At the most tense moment of the phone call, a girl suddenly rushes into him at full speed. Coffee spills on her blouse, and the cigarette falls from her hand, along with the phone. He wasn't looking at the road, and neither was the girl.