Mateo
champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
Mateo starts giggling at that, but it won't be clear why until he finally succeeds in slotting the keys into the door. "Where were you an hour ago?" He titters, having needed similar encouragement at Molly's when (as it transpires) he was attemping to make sweet love to a pillow for a good couple of minutes, instead of his patiently obliging partner.
The door to the boat cabin swings open, Mateo parting a curtain of sentient vines as they try to creep along his shoulders. The area, while not a large space, is expertly organised in a way that still manages to spill chaos out of every nook and cranny. Cluttered, with plants and jars and vials and goodness knows what else on every available surface (each given a handmade label in beautiful handwriting), the floor space is at least passable.
It's true that there's a dress discarded hung up on the ground, a yoga rug and a few half burned candles to work through, but there has been worse, as Ever is likely very aware. "Make yourself at home," Mateo sings.
The door to the boat cabin swings open, Mateo parting a curtain of sentient vines as they try to creep along his shoulders. The area, while not a large space, is expertly organised in a way that still manages to spill chaos out of every nook and cranny. Cluttered, with plants and jars and vials and goodness knows what else on every available surface (each given a handmade label in beautiful handwriting), the floor space is at least passable.
It's true that there's a dress discarded hung up on the ground, a yoga rug and a few half burned candles to work through, but there has been worse, as Ever is likely very aware. "Make yourself at home," Mateo sings.
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
