Jittery Finesse

bobbyfinger:

What if this were actually Adele’s house?

Adele’s like, “Hey friend, come over to my home for a nice evening of whiskey and shit-talking,” and once you walk past the dude playing drums in a corner, avoid some other dude screaming in the ‘SWORD ‘N’ SALT” room, hold your breath while walking by a Synecdoche New York-type room that’s perpetually on fire, and climb the mountain of broken plates blocking the staircase, you find Adele upstairs with a bottle of whiskey and exactly one empty chair that isn’t covered in plastic.

Then she’s like, “UGH WE NEED TO TALK. I JUST BROKE UP WITH MY BOYFRIEND.”