But he saw his own image, the blank face despairing in its nothingness, on Brenda’s phone and stopped. Brenda steadied her hand. Opso fell to his knees. The jeans splatted in fresh mud. His thin, vague mouth curved down at either end. “My face,” he lamented. “Oh, my face.” “Be ready to run, Amanda,” Brenda said. “Gone,” Opso said.
Thats kina sad
