issues a challenge; An LoM play. In iambic pentameter. GO.
GENE sits at his desk, legs propped over the cluttered top. Enter SAM, scowling.
But shite, what git through yonder doorway breaks?
It is a ponce, and Tyler is the one.
Sit down, odious nerk, and spill your guts
I'm so used to your miserable moaning
That I have happ'ly learnt to tune you out.