David: Psychologically speaking, the owner of this home is a genuine head trip. Survey his bedroom and you immediately comprehend what's going on with his come-hither-but-get-the-fuck-away-from-me attitude. It's all one big YES/NO cluster fuck (you!)
Examples: The particle board bed, (sporting 200 thread count sheets from the local thrift store) seems to beckon, but then upon closer inspection looks as though the slightest ass-pressure would collapse it in a trice.
The red Ikea chair seems to be inviting, but, hmmmmm, never mind -- Angry Boy's kashmiri shawl -- that his mom got for a steal in Bombay -- is making you hesitant. Too! What's that smell? The aftereffects of mom's M by Mariah Carey is way too cloying. Ew! -- that synthetic baby powder scent.
The lone item in this room that dares engage us with any vitality is the little vine plant that is struggling valiantly to make its way out of the room -- and who can blame it? Run free little greeny, before you're stuffed into a terrarium and placed in a closet.
We do like the postcards and what look to be pencil drawings hung randomly on the wall -- this lends the room a bit of bohemian chic. Though if you're asked to come up and see his 'etchings' -- wisely decline. You'd be tossed to the curb as soon as the cum rag hit the floor.