don't threaten me with a good time

Mateo

Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between

New year, new Mateo. New year, new Mateo. It's the same mantra after every NYE blowout, roaming the city streets amid the smell of fireworks and the taste of copper on the back of his tongue. But this is the first time he's actually done something about it, rather than just sticking brightly coloured post-its and buying a load of smoothie ingredients. Maybe it was the near-miss from just before Christmas, or maybe it's the thought of getting into shape before going to Italy.

Either way, it's day three of his hangover, day three of sobriety, and Mateo mewls out a protest as his coffee is replaced with a bottle of water. Squinting under the lights of the locker room, he hasn't brought a change of clothes (because if he had, he'd need at least two lockers to himself, let's be real).

So he waits for Ever to get himself ready in his Juicy Couture sweatpants, a pair of sneakers that he's never worn inside a gym before, and a black mesh tanktop. Oh, and those leather fingerless gloves for lifting weights, because that's what they do in the gym, right?

"I don't want a personal trainer, I want to go to bed," he mumbles around a sip of water. "Can I just follow your workout?" How hard can it be?

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