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Imagine, if you will, a tiny black-haired girl with a big text tattoo and a septum ring. She is drinking milk out of a tiki mug and eating raw, fresh green beans out of a chrome colander balanced on her thigh. She is wondering, vaguely, about a crime noir Snow White story.
I've seen my father. It was a little surreal, and a little sad. He's simply an old man, now. Nothing to be afraid of. Hugging him goodbye made me uncomfortable.
I'd maim for an audience for a coffee.
Sitting and looking out of the window at the gray sky, I smoked a bit of weed after he left, cheered myself up with some Electro, and unpacked the antiques my mum brought me-- an art deco vanity tray and my original Lone Ranger six-shooter metal gun. Ahhhh... lead makes a wonderful toy for the tots.
This place has the feel of a boudoir, with all these candelabras and vintage hats. Besides, the walls are lavender.