prosciutto nat just does have a certain flavour. slick old-fashioned gangster and his them fatale spouse. they meet in a smoky jazz bar where i’m singing and he’s smoking and our eyes meet. he has lipstick marks on his collar when he’s called into a mission. he’s a gentleman with an icy polite demeanour and a silky smooth voice. i’m a little bit naive but i wear a corset and stockings and flirt with him and pour him his whiskey when he gets home and perch on his lap whilst he listens to old jazz records and light his cigarette for him. the vibe is so clear in my mind.









