in my head there's a man with a swolled, bulbous, aquamarine head. his eyes are just sockets and they're stretched all the way to his forehead. he's wearing an italian suit with bright tiger print and a flaming magenta tie. and he smokes a fat cuban cigar, thick rank smoke. leo bolero stop being palmer eldrich in like a metaphysical sense and come home
me rationalizing random outfit changes