And no one knew each other. We were not friends - yet. We were co-workers.
And this house we were set up in, it was all 7 of us. So Shay, our boss, actually wasn't here on this tour - Aiden was his role.
Now, this house was huge. It could be best described as a Mansion. Gothic Manor maybe. It had dark sheeted wood plats, black coated acrylic blinds and forest green accents that towered and shimmied up it’s exterior. In the row of jellybean houses, this one was a dark liquorice drop.
At the front, Winding green shrubs that were shaped like skyward daggers dwindled past the height of the tallest street-lamps and gold trim laced itself around the main door and adjourning windows. There was a gargoyle hiding in-between the rising shrubbery and the Black metal gated fencing. Eyes morphed into crescent moons from it’s piling grin as it’s stoney skinned body rattled when each gust of Atlantic breeze. The fall air was fierce. Whipping past and buffeting the houses in the lane, creaking and pulling at their foundations. But this manor...
It has these Gregorian lamps that bled out warm light. 4 in total - two were perched around the front door, and two were situated around the front bay window. Each time the wind bristled past, it seemed to flicker the electric lamp’s light, making it impossible to clearly, objectively, do anything outside if it was just past 5pm - try finagling the front door code pad if you can barely make out the numbers. Braille be dammed. But when the evening sucked away the daylight, it was the only house on the lane that made any attempt at front porch lighting, making it the only homestead on the block that was ‘ready for business’. Even if that business was the business of having poor lighting.
The front door was archaic. Double the height of our tallest member - Aiden - and weighing enough that you had to shove your shoulder into the door, ramming it open with a defensive stance similar to an American football linebacker. It wasn’t painted black like the rest of the Manor, but rather a smokey charcoal. If you touched it, an oily stain would stick and shine from it’s matte exterior. Sometimes the front door wouldn't let us in, even if it was unlocked. Luckily on our first entrance, the door swung wide open, as if it were the maw of a fantastic beast, ready to swallow us one by one into it’s warm acidic interior.
Inside. It was this dusty, ancient, heavy, gothic mansion. A spiral staircase greeted us upon entry, and to our right was the living area.
Cracked, leather furniture. Cavernous ceiling.
And bookshelves filled with the art of H.R Geiger
(H.R. Geiger is the concept artist who created the xenomorph
He would have these night terrors and he would wake up and have to draw them)
There was also this large suit of armour, perched upon a mantle sitting on the highest bookshelf - precariously placed, next to a matching sword.
A few heads of game animals that were mantled - a deer and a buffalo.
The lobby/living room (where the books were etc) connected to the kitchen with a large chandelier and a massive kitchen with ‘working’ appliances.
The back door was next to the kitchen - it was a sliding panel window. The one and only note we received from the airbnb owner was to not open the back door
Well, Aiden opened it. Taking the charge as the youngest of us, and the least likely to suffer from ‘curse-like’ symptoms due to his flagrant athleticism, and general flightiness. As he un-cautiously slid the partition open, a cascade of dead wasps showered down upon him and onto the floor. He recoiled, disgusted, ran through the lot of us, fled past the kitchen, through the living room, and up the staircase. Upon closer examination the wasps looked as if they were like just exterminated. Dried out, like bacon bits from a glass bowl you would find at a salad bar at your local buffet.
We never opened that door again, but... I think after we did that, that was when the house got mad at us. Dead wasps continued to show up in nooks and corners if you looked for them, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this house was... very good at getting rid of things it didn’t like.
The airbnb informed us that there was a basement where apparently someone lived full time - But, there was no visible door. So we were asked to be as soft in the mornings as possible and as gentle as we could in the night, as to respect our faceless guest that apparently resided below us.
There were five floors, excluding the main lobby/kitchen. A grand mahogany staircase that spiralled, landed, jutted, crept, up forever it seemed, was the entirety of the rest of the Manor. A smooth railing polished by years of human hands, caressing it with pressure, seemed too slick to be of support to anyone over the age of 70. And with each staircase landing, the staircase seemed to change direction, almost at random. Sometimes, on the second floor, you would need to take a right turn to ascend to the third, even if you turned left to get up to the third floor every other time.
Seemingly by chance, there would be added, or subtracted steps, particularly on the 3rd floor. As if the Mansion were toying with us. Taunting our already disorientated minds. I found myself tripping on the 3rd floor plateau every time I passed through. It was never the same. Sometimes It was 8 steps, Other attempts were 13 steps. I remember taking a final step down, my 8th, but realizing there were 7 steps my knee buckled and my inner ear fluid screamed in alarm as my hands would surface from my zombie-like decent to cling for any form of life vest. I realized why the railing was so slick with every corner I took. My clammy hands refused to leave the mahogany line the entirety of my downstairs and upstairs travels.
It was getting late so, we decided to pick rooms - first come first serve.
The first floor has this massive bedroom where two king sized beds sat. And they were beds of kings with chains adorning the walls at the head of each, with large bedposts and mantles punctuating the dueling sleep arrangement. The feet of these beds were pointed towards each other and in-between, there was this massive circular rug. At least 7ft across in diameter, it was a deep rose red colour with a 70s style psychedelic spiral that mixed brown and gold highlights into a oroborrus of LSD-type imprint. The fabric was plush and ripe, a bosom blooming from the floor it adorned. It was also installed lower than the hardwood floor it sat within. Mis-steps occurred where-in by viewers transfixed by it’s lustful sensuous warmth, would fall face first into it, attempting to breathe in the luscious volume of ruby sweetness, so promised by it’s perversions. A daily occurrence. Calder and Aiden went to camp out in this room.
Then on level two, there was a lovely little bedroom with a room that was so small it was as if it were a closet. Like a bedroom for someone living in Hong Kong. Lilac everything. A long pillar window at the head of the bed casted a blue overcast shadow misting up the room with a cool glow. The bedroom seemed to be living in a misty morning inside a deep forest in Northern Wales.
The next level up didn't have a bedroom, just a landing. The 3rd floor landing.
Then level 4 there was a nice well-to-do sized bedroom. The only normal looking bedroom truthfully. It was clean, wasn't dusty, had the nicest bed. It had the only window that was facing the sunset. Every other room in the mansion had either North or South facing windows. Sun was rare.
The only peculiar about this room was it’s connected bathroom with a copper toilet. You had to pull this valve hanging from the ceiling to flush it. And when the house creaked, a guttural moan would emit from the mouth of the copper seat. Vomit inducing from pure ‘sound to gag’ pavlovian response at around Noon every day.
We finally made it up to the fifth floor.
There was nothing left after this. No more levels to explore. So, me Isak and Keiran had to figure out our arrangements in the scarce pickings of what was left.
There was one bathroom that was connected to a master bedroom - the bedroom in question was a gold themed master suite. Cream coloured sheets, and drapes flowed like a fresh blanket of snow. Gold edging adorned practically everything in sight. The room’s ceiling was peaked, meeting into a triangle and the window itself was a triangular panel that overlooked all of st.johns. You could see signal Hill and the cove from where the city spilled around.
Keiran picked it because it connected to the bathtub - and he doesn't do showers.
The last room was for me and isak.
And it was similar to odile’s closet. A small window peered to the backside of the house where you got to see all the jellybean houses st.johns is so famous for.
I had brought a suitcase.
Isak had brought a briefcase with a cast iron skillet. He has one pair of underwear. One pair of socks. Two shirts and the pair of pants he wore.
I had missed the room assignment because my s/o had called me in a panic, so I went outside to call her and calm her down - yes, everything is good. I had a great trip thanks for - oh. Are you okay? oh. okay okay…
And Isak, had been in a huff since we left on tour, constantly missing from the group and never really around for any big group decisions.
So we got lumped, literally, together and given the final room - two twin bunks with a small florescent bulb on brown hip height drawers. His briefcase was small enough to be opened and unpacked fully on the white desk table by the land facing window.
I left my suitcase in the hall. There was no floor space in the room for it. There was barely enough space for Isak and me.
I chose the top bunk because isak insisted.
He said,” oh I'll wake you up. I have a feeling that I don't like this house'
Truthfully, isak and I were both in the midst of...
The first night passed uneventfully enough.
I remembered hearing yelling at one point, but it also seemed as if it came from the back courtyard. Distance and shrill. the voice of a woman yelling at the timbre of a man groaning in pain. There seemed to be sharp noises similar to the sound of butcher meat being slapped onto a chopping block. loud punctuating rhythmical slaps, into groans, into wailing echoes. The wind - I dismissed. I slept with the pillow over my head, muffled buzzing and shrieking filling my dreams with Wasps and hollowed out women on the frigid ocean wharf - shrieking for lost loved ones from years before. Men, groaning into the night.
*************************************************************************************
When I woke up at 8, Isak was missing. I hopped out of my bed, and made my way 2 flights down, stumbling on the 3rd floor, then gripping my way down to ground level, noticing that no one else was awake - the smell of burnt bread was filling my nose.
As I made my way down the final flight, old polished mahogany creaking with every step, I heard gentle humming from the kitchen - Isak had been cooking. His eyes were baggy and his voice was softer than yesterday. I realized he had stayed up all night.
Isak was a very sensitive sleeper, as we would find out travelling with him more and more. But during this first trip, it was unnerving that one of our company was so diligently avoiding us without reason. At the time, it confused us - we were a fun loving group! Positive and upbeat. But he seemed avoidant and moody. Guarded against us like a mussel guarding against entry from prying, eager, hungry fingers.
This was the first time that I had realized that Isak was human. He practically didn’t exist in the tour previous in Goose Bay - save an emotional outburst on stage with a fit of anger. But - here he was. Domestic and baking.
Apparently, last night Isak had left to go to town and found a convenience store open at 5am. He purchased butter, eggs and flour, and was baking. As people trickled down from their slumber, everyone had similar thoughts and musings - too cold! did you wake up because of the smell of bread? Isak you can cook? I’ll have some honey. No - I didn’t hear anything. Must just be the wind. This house seems older than I think we were told. does your wifi work on the 5th floor? Maybe we should go visit the town today? Does anyone want to come to - Oh, I need coffee. The toilet was making these sounds? Did you sleep well? Did YOU sleep well? For breakfast we all munched on slightly brown/burnt croissants and proceeded about our day, still perplexed as to who Isak was and why he would bring a cast skillet to the airport.
_____________________________________________________________
We returned from our day, spent and well worn from trying out the stage. Katie, our fearless leader, took three attempts to open the mansion’s door - it was getting harder to enter. Earlier in the day, Aiden and Keiran returned from an outing with a similar reprieve - the door refused to open. 4224? Isn’t that the code? I’m sure its the code - do you have wifi? Shit. Theres no reception out here… I’m sure it was 4224. Oh - look here comes Odile…. thanks for letting us in. The door- something’s wrong with…. Hey - are you guys playing cards? Can we join?
This evening was odd. I wasn’t intoxicated, but it everyone else was. I remember having to flee upstairs to the 5th floor to tend to my s/o who was complaining about her job in Toronto. Something about work conditions. Something about hating being misunderstood. Something about missing me…. I remember just gently cooing to her. Attempting to soothe whatever I could soothe in what ever capacity - our way of soothing was through fysical means, and since the long distance occurred, it was becoming clear to me that this person I was ‘with’ was not who I thought they were - and I was changing into something completely foreign to even myself. The cracks were showing. In me, and in them. It felt like holding together an earthquake damaged building with duck-tape. Red-Green Style.
By the time my phone call ended, I couldn’t tell you what time it was but I was starving. The group had ordered pizza, and had apparently gone to get liquor. I was in no mood to socialize, but when I arrived at the bottom of the mahogany staircase rancorous laughter boomed around the lobby and was rolling in waves from the kitchen. The company, completely boozed out, were all seated around a rapid game of uno?president? ace? thief? (aiden yelling SHA-POOPY over and over and over again) I couldn’t say… As soon as I entered the room, I felt a haze wash over me. As if I had 2nd hand intoxication from the giddy-fairy-like-Dionysus-pleasure that filled the room.
I do remember finding these empty beer bottles - the ones that are used for edward 40hands - and filling them with water at different levels to whistle at their spouts. I just wanted to hear some music that wasn’t deep thumping ballroom house beats. I quickly devoured a slice of cold pizza. it didn’t satisfy my hunger, but I was too lazy to eat more.
As the evening wound down, the energy dissipated but the curiosity of the group was heightened. Everyone’s eyes seemed to finally be taking in the lobby. We left the kitchen from which we were all seated and started scanning the book shelves. unlocking cabinets filled with little children type puzzles and books. Ancient lamps that filled the space with this yellow dusty glow painting the wooden ceiling with fiery warmth and hitting the mantles in different ways. The buffalo head was softer and less demanding in the nighttime versus the daylight.
In the daylight hours, the buffalo head was the first thing you saw when you entered into the lobby. Giant. Dour. beastly. The overcast lighting of St.John’s in the fall just emphasized it’s mantle. This dead creature was, dead, and mounted, on display. But in the warm evening lamp light…It was seemingly growing in size by the minute, breathing in cool air and fogging it out through wet nostrils. It was cushiony to the touch. You could practically fall asleep on its pillowy beard. It’s beady eyes were full of life, versus overcast glazed agony. The deer was on the opposite end of the bookcase. Deers are scary. the horns are too sharp. No one really took notice of it anyways - it seemed to be more of a wallflower type of animal.
“Oh - theres a suit” said Calder. Eyes upwards to the top of one of the shelves. His happy little moustache bristled with excitement. Odile was uncontrollably smiling and holding her drink as if it were a lit french cigar - the epitome of sophistication. Katie was fiddling with one of the puzzles with her right hand, drink in her left, and eyes scanning all around constantly - an expert multi-tasker. Aiden and Keiran left to go hunt. Isak was, once again, missing.
Calder climbed up one of the leather couches, and with his two lanky hands, managed to nab the breast plate. The armour seemed to be real - not just armour for LARP or Cosplay. It had grooves and dents in it indicative of battle. I think there was also a sword, but Calder was too fascinated by the breastplate that by the time he had put it on, we had all forgotten there might have even been more to the armour.
Sir. White. sharply voguing around the lobby to Ballroom beats. dipping in the breast plate. Duck walking in the breast plate. runway in the breast plate. selling the breast plate. us bowing to calder, calling him, ‘my liege’ whilst he strutted in the breast plate.
I can’t remember much after that - except for when I went to bed, Isak’s bed was empty.
_______________________________________________________________________
When I arrived downstairs, I had finally felt like I procured a restful night. I was worried about Isak, sure. But he had proven himself to be resourceful enough to survive on his own without anything for the past 5 days. And without his insomnia keeping both him and I awake, I was finally finally able to sleep for more than 6 hours. So, I wasn’t worried.
I sat at the table, sifting through my mind for something gratifying to eat - fruit? didn’t buy any. Bread? burnt and stale. I don’t know. Calder arrived down the stairs with the same blown out eyes as last night - but this time there was a shifty point of tension every time something loud in the kitchen shifted. His pupils darted (drifted?) as his neck swayed forward with every step like a bird in slow motion gait. Feet deathly soft with each step, his hips stretched and yawned side-to-side with each gait as if willow tree in a gentle spring storm.
The fridge opened, and Calder reached inside the cool container to withdraw a single yogurt capsule. I felt my mouth instantly salivate. The feeling was similar to that of instant arousal - sudden, all encompassing. I couldn’t focus on anything else besides that small perfectly palm sized pill of milky probiotic vanilla 0% sugar free silver skinned top pearly white lined creamy so creamy i felt myself start to drool silver spoon breaking penetrating the perfect cool gelatinous surface tension i caught my drool with my left hand spoon tip breaking the virginal expanse of -
“aiden talks in his sleep”
Calder was sitting up straight. Too straight. His eyes grew a bit wider as he started devouring his breakfast - yoghurt. “I was almost asleep, and Aiden was already passed out. I’m sure he was out. But he spoke - so loudly and abruptly - ‘There are too many people in this house’” Calder’s eyes flickered over to the staircase as if imagining Aiden rushing down the stairs proclaiming the same words. “Aiden was passed out cold. Everyone was asleep. I didn’t know what to do. What do you do? Wake him up? I dont know!... I .... I haven’t asked him about it yet…” Calder’s grip on the spoon was tight. Eyes just a touch spastic, pulling at the red bags under his red vein stained whites. There was a bit of yoghurt lining his moustache mimicking the foamy mouth that a rabid animal would posses mid viral induced rage fest.
“Isak knocked at my door last night”
Calder and I both flinched. Calder withdrawing both of his hands, fingers grip-grip-gripping the grip on his spoon and the open air with a bit of a gasp. I did a double take. Odile appeared out of nowhere, just pouring herself some coffee at the kitchen bar. Neither Calder nor I heard her make her way down. The sunlight hit the side of her head sprinkling her crown with a soft morning halo emphasizing her ethereal entrance even more than her silent offerings. Odile seemed… tired as well. Shoulders a bit sagged. Lips pouted and parted. She didn’t look at us when she spoke. All we sa was the slow movement of her hands mechanizing into a coffee making stupor.
“What did he do?” sputtered out Calder. His focus trained on Odile now. Yoghurt forgotten by him. My breakfast-less stomach curdled and growled at me to steal his food. Sweet creamy sugarfree - Maybe when he’s not looking i’ll -
“It was so early,” odile yawned widely. Eyes pursed closed and gentle whine escaping her lithe frame.
Then, Odile said, ”Tia, does Isak sleep?”
“I - uh,” I re-focused back to the two of them. Calder’s eyes were trained on me now - Odile’s morning stare was feeling less curious and more investigative. I was the only one who had spent extended time with Isak. He was my bunk-mate. Literally. And yet, I had barely seen him.
“I don’t think so?” I admitted. I thought back to last night. When I went to sleep, he wasn’t there. The light was on when I arrived on the 5th floor, but Isak was missing. His briefcase, was still unpacked and his phone charger plugged into the wall.
I knew nothing about him yet here I was. The roommate. The resident expert on our mysterious nomad - a Research Scientist in Enquist Behavioural Studies.
I shrugged, “When I got up to our room he wasn’t there. I just assumed he was out walking or something.”
“I think he knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to smoke a cigarette - In french.” Odile’s eyes were finally on me and Calder. A bit stupefied, but nonetheless playful.
“So odd.” whispered calder, as he hungrily postured himself to spoon feed more yoghurt into his mouth. My stomach growled in frustration. No yoghurt stealing. I would have to find breakfast elsewhere.
“Odile, how is your room?” Calder inquired, softly swallowing his mouthful. Lips bunched into a questioning furl, moustache curling with the corners of his frown, yoghurt dewing on his whiskers.
“Oh, it’s good? Its right next to yours Tia.”
“hm? no it’s not? You’re downstairs?” Calder swallowed.
“No, kieran and I switched,” Odile finished stirring.
“When did that happen?” I inquired.
“The first night. He couldn’t sleep. Was feeling super uneasy about the master bedroom. Asked if I could switch with him.” Odile stirred and slurped her brew - winced at the bitterness of it, and clanked the cup down to retrieve some milk from the fridge.
“Oh… okay.” I muttered my stomach now whining at me. Well, everything felt like it was whining at me. My ‘fight/flight’ senses felt like they were on 8 cylinders running at full throttle. I hastened to snatch a stale piece of croissant that Isak baked the first night - crunching into it’s burnt base and feeling at least, relieved that my stomach would feast on something, anything, at this moment and just shut up.
My mind drifted back to the room switch. How odd. Keiran wasn’t the type to give up the bath. He was stubborn and exuberant - invincible at times. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the most ‘impervious’ member of our company, getting the ‘heebie-geebies’ and having to switch with Odile. I mean. It’s a good thing he switched with Odile. She was pretty impervious herself. But still... a nagging feeling of annoyance nibbled my body during the day, itching and gnawing at strange smells, bizarre visions, and hazy sunlight architecture. I ended up sticking with Odile and Calder as we prepared for the show - I dont think any of us wanted to be alone.
*****************************************************************************************
When I saw Keiran later in the day, he was getting warmed up. Bouncing his heels he had over-ear headphones in, blasting wildly melodic deep-bass pop, as he gently lounged in a flat middle straddle. I inquired about his room switch. He paused his music, took a moment to settle with my question, and gave me a shrug,
“I had a spooky feeling the very first night, and I switched with Odile then. You didn’t know?”
“No. I didn’t know - I didn’t at all. Is it easier? In Odile’s old room?”
“Yeah? Still... This whole city is a bit...”
“More-or-less.” he shrugged again his large shoulders and his normally goofy facade faded to one of uncertainty, echoing Calder and Odile’s exhaustion from this morning.
The nagging of something haunting us, just kept growing larger and larger. The wasps that were these nuggets of death hiding in the dusty decrepit Gothic Mansion corners. The H.R. Geiger books that were in plain sight and inviting us to open their pages and gape at the nightmares brewed from the terrors of this Swedish man. The goddamn suit of armour. The mysterious 3rd landing. The stubborn front door. Aiden potentially getting possessed by a ghost ( “I think Aiden was possessed by a ghost” - Keiran Drew Bohay). Isak’s incessant insomnia. The animal mounts.
The gothic mansion became more and more alive every second we lived there - as if sapping our own energies and fueling its own hidden agenda. And we had one more night to get through.
_____________________________________________________________________
The show went well. As well as it could have, given it became a site specific work in a hockey rink. We zombied out of the lobby, particularly proud of ourselves, as our second show ever as a company went swimmingly well. No injuries. No bruised egos. And certainly no choreographic blunders - nope nadda zlitch zippo. I guarantee it, or your money back. Full refund. Buy one show, and get the second one, free! call now.
It was on this evening that our tour manager Brent decided to join us. Apparently flying in from Belize, he was struck with how ‘young’ of a company we were and promptly decided that ‘drinks were in order!’. We lumbered down to an area in St.John’s were locals were known to frequent - Water St. A cobblestone alley-ridden area, well tended by pubs named after various maritime fares- Bridie Malloys’, Trapper John’s Museum and Pub, and Lottie’s Place which is where we found ourselves. I remember, the seating was sparse. The pubs weren’t expected to be open this late, and for a crew of around 13, it was a stretch to ask the kitchen to stay open, so we had to call ahead of time to secure seating. Our ‘secured seating’ ended up being two booths that could sit, 4 people, and 6 people, respectively, and then a single table in-between, with enough for just 2. I don’t know how it happened, but I ended up by myself at the table for two, eavesdropping on both conversations at once, while simultaneously failing to participate in either. Katie, at one point, was with me for a while, but then her food got cold, and she migrated to the booth of 4, which became a booth of 5.
It was my 3rd tequila shot in, when I realized that, I felt lonely. Sure, I had been making new friends. Work colleagues are the friends you get to make. You get to bond over the collective experience of accomplishment and teamwork. But here I was, sitting in-between tables, unable to even bring myself to look at either group. The only person that sat down with me left me to go with the table of 4. Was I really that bad of a conversationalist? Should I have told her about my fascination with stickers? Or maybe, I could have asked her about her favourite salad leaf? Romaine? or Spring? She did eat a salad… well, didn’t finish eating the salad, just left the caesar there. All knifed and soggy. My stomach grumbled, but I shushed it. We can’t afford food, but we can certainly afford alcohol I bemused annoyingly.
I found myself suckling the rind of the last lime that I bit into after hoofing my 3rd shot. I felt cold. A curdling sensation of numbing and prickling began to ooze into my hands. Covering them. Coating them in paralytic ice. And as if my eyes were a pin hole camera, the lights in my vision dimmed and focused in. I was only seeing a fraction of my entire vision. Peripherals gone. A soft haze that only occurs when my glasses are off, teased every object my telescope lens witnessed. My mouth was hungry. I felt myself salivating for something, anything, to satiate me. I felt my stiff hands gently prying salt off the table, petting it onto the already milked lime wedge, and at a glacial pace, my hand was aiming it for my lips.
My phone pinged - ah. A message from…. oh. The s/o… Honestly, tonight was not a night where I wanted to partake in listening to her ramblings of a shitty-job where she doesn’t get fairly treated, even though it was full time pay with benefits, and creation, touring and a stable contract. Sure sucks that you don’t feel appreciated, I wonder what that must feel like.
Ah - I felt the bile in my stomach rise, and I felt myself reach for the dewey glass of water, and swallowed some to quell my potential upheaval. I tucked my phone into my pocket. Better not tonight. Better not tonight. You can deal with it tomorrow. You won’t be annoyed with her by tomorrow. Right? You won’t. You won’t. You won’t.
The table of 6 laughed. Then the table of 5 laughed. Then - I laughed. Laughter! I should laugh, I will seem to be a part of the group? Maybe? hopefully? I looked to my right, to the group of 6, and saw odile casting a sympathetic gaze at me - or a least what I thought was a sympathetic look. Her face seemed to be just a bit too wide to be ‘her’ face. Like one of those generic caricatures that you pay for on holiday to Hawaii when you’re 12? And the cartoonist just draws your mouth a bit too big, and your eyes a bit too small, and you look like every-single-other-caricaure he’s drawn. I fucking hate those. It’s just a plumber doing his job. I don’t know if that’s could be called art. I certainly wouldn’t call it Art. My god. When I see people getting their portrait drawn I always want to walk up to them, hand them a pencil and a mirror and say JUST FUCKEN DRAW YOURSELF. JUST TRY IT. TRY SOMETHING.
It was at this point when I knew I was drunk.
