This is dedicated to the fucking fly who keeps buzzing around my fucking head.
Mello lay down on the couch. Jeez, it was hot. Who knew London, of all places, could get so fucking hot? Oh, God, the flies…the fucking flies were at it again, buzzing around his head, his chocolate bar, his whole body. Dammit, they were getting on his nerves. And what was the easiest way to deal with things that get on your nerves when you're Mihael Keehl? You shoot em. Easy.