If I Knew I Would Expire in Three Days…

Please, see that in the last seventy-two hours of my life, I am Air-(E)vac’ed to the AYTM showroom (located in: Denmark). Just let me die upon sundry pieces of their ultra-sumptuous designs, piled into a mammoth mound and then, set it on fire.

Every thing, every piece is flawless. Looks as if it was lifted right off of the set of American Gigolo. So sterile and cold, yet kind of making me want to call a dark and swarthy male escort for dowagers (Which I am far from).

His name:¬†Maximiliano. Dude’s Spanish. Throw him on my funeral pyre too.

All of this: The stuff of dreams.

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