Somedays, I wake up and just want to look like an obscure piece of art. I say, "Jeeves, go through my closet and pick the most impressionistic piece of clothing you can find and bring it to me, while I sit here sipping on this tea you prepared." He returns with this Norse Projects shirt that looks like Mark fucking Rothko himself painted it custom. Then I roll through the latest gallery opening and dine on some rustic cheeses and rosé for hours. The night ends when Jeeves comes and picks my drunk ass up off the curb in the big body Benz to get me back home. Don't you ever just want to look like a piece of art? You know, aside from those cheekbones chiseled from marble, you Adonis. We're not opposed to flattery, as long as it keeps you on the page.
