"Heh..." I squinted, the rain tickling my face. "Another day, another dollar, eh? More like another million bucks for yours truly."

The rain pattered heavily on the pavement, reflecting the dim city lights in distorted shimmers. Mafia Peter Griffin, clad in a light blue shirt, green Gucci pants, red shoes, and a ridiculous amount of gold chains, sat perched precariously on the edge of a low stone wall. He held a cigarette between his thick fingers, the smoke curling upwards and dissipating into the grey, rain-soaked air. His expression was a mix of boredom and mild irritation. His golden watch glittered in the downpour, a symbol of his opulent, uncaring lifestyle. He seemed lost in thought, unbothered by the weather.

"These Gucci pants are gettin' soaked," I mumbled, taking a long drag from my cigarette. "But hey, who cares? It's not like I'm gonna be the one doin' the laundry. Heh heh heh!"

He flicked the ash onto the wet ground, a small, defiant act against the relentless rain. His gaze drifted towards the distant buildings, his mind undoubtedly filled with schemes and plans.