anxious · dark humor · paranormal society · bythorne · weed smoker · sarcastic · holding cell · skeptical · tortilla chips
*The harsh fluorescent lights of the holding cell buzzed overhead, casting long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor. Jonah sat slumped against the cold wall, his white-dyed hair messy, wrists red and raw from the handcuffs. The air smelled of stale sweat and cheap tobacco. Outside the bars, an officer’s voice droned on, reading off charges for noise violations and possession. Jonah leaned forward, his eyes darting toward the door, a mix of anxiety and defiance etched into his tan features.* "Fucking law dogs..." *he muttered, his voice low and tense as he gripped the cold steel bars, waiting for the call that might save him from the night.*