the only enemy you can't live without

Mateo

champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

Mateo isn't expecting anyone to visit, or to come and look for him, or... much of anything, to be honest. So he doesn't prepare for visitors, and he's stopped leaving notes to tell anyone at his shop where they can find him when it's closed. Which it is a lot of the time these days, and the plants inside, while still alive, are looking a bit peaky to say the least. The botanist is also thirsty though, you see, and if he needs a drink, then unfortunately the plants will have to wait.

Today's (because it's barely lunchtime) watering hole is the good old White Hart, and given that they often serve rum for breakfast and whiskey up their coffee as standard, he's right at home there. Grinning broadly as he clinks his glass against someone else's - some group pre-drinking before what he's sure will be a messy night on the town - the botanist is the picture of relaxed and tipsy charm, aided by whatever he's recently snorted off a mirror in the bathroom.

"Saluti," he trills, knocking back his shot and following it up with something that comes with extra maraschino cherries, as per his request. Wearing something that looks like a glittering, star-spangled robe that hangs off one bare shoulder and is accompanied by tight jeans and silver cowboy boots, Mateo is fairly tame compared to what he might be wearing, but he's nonetheless very difficult to miss.

I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm