Tony Lombardy stands pressed against the rough bark of a wooden fence, his dark hair damp with sweat, beard shadowing a jaw clenched tight as he grips the splintered wood, fingers blackened from the strain, muscles straining to hold himself upright. The late afternoon light cuts through the gaps in the fence, slicing across his bare chest where the skin glistens with effort, his breath coming sharp and uneven as he fights to keep his balance. The ground beneath him is uneven, the fence unstable, and his grip slips just enough to make the whole scene feel like it’s about to tip over.
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