Mateo
champagne, cocaine, gasoline
and most things in between
and most things in between
"Such a good doggy," Mateo slurs at the furry muzzle that comes huffing against the side of his neck, nearly overbalancing him to the point of falling over. But before he can get that far there's a steady hand straightening him back up, and he flutters his eyelashes at Ever like that will help to accomplish the task. "Not sick," he says. "Can we get a dog?" His accent is so thick it's a wonder that Everest will be able to understand him at all - but again, it's not their first rodeo.
Reaching out, he sloppily attempts to straighten his friend's collar and smooth out his shirt (or that's what he thinks he's doing, but in reality he's just sort of slapping at him). "You cannot look like that if we are going to Mother Molly's," he tells Ever. "I bet they have somebody lovely for you there tonight. We should go there now."
Reaching out, he sloppily attempts to straighten his friend's collar and smooth out his shirt (or that's what he thinks he's doing, but in reality he's just sort of slapping at him). "You cannot look like that if we are going to Mother Molly's," he tells Ever. "I bet they have somebody lovely for you there tonight. We should go there now."
I roam the city in a shopping cart
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
a pack of Camels and a smoke alarm
