Mateo
Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
"Scommetto che ti chiami Frida. La versione femminile di cagna congelata," Mateo grumbles under his breath as they leave the blondes to their rowing, and he also maintains steady eye contact with Frida as he limps swaggers away to the mats. "You did not fuck up Christmas," he tells Ever as he plops himself down onto the mat without so much as looking at the disinfectant. "I had a great Christmas with you."
Honestly Mateo feels like he's been hit by a steam engine, and he'd probably benefit from a few sessions of sports massage to even know which muscles feel tight. But here they are, and so he flumps down into child's pose (from yoga - because he does know that one). "My neck, my back, my... you know the words," he mumbles into the mat.
Honestly Mateo feels like he's been hit by a steam engine, and he'd probably benefit from a few sessions of sports massage to even know which muscles feel tight. But here they are, and so he flumps down into child's pose (from yoga - because he does know that one). "My neck, my back, my... you know the words," he mumbles into the mat.
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
