

I imagine this is how Matt Smith will look when he eventually moves to Williamsburg to live in a loft above an old antique store called something like “Auntie Em’s Rocking Chair Emporium.” In the corner of his dimly-lit bedroom, he’ll have a desk full of moleskin notebooks in which he’ll scribble short stories about what it means to be alive and how we’re all children of the wilderness. Pictures of raccoons printed on the yellowed pages of an 1885 dictionary will hang on the walls in frames that he found left on the stoop of a now-empty apartment where the owner of an Etsy shop that sold nothing but vintage bicycle bells once lived. In the summertime, when the loft windows are open and the warm breeze of another Williamsburg afternoon drifts through the floral curtains, Matt will use a bit of driftwood found on the shores of a Scottish loch as a paperweight for the bits of crumpled stationary that contain the wild flights of fancy that pour from his mind in the early hours of the morning when the sun is just breaking across the metal horizon. And in the evenings, he’ll stroll down to a local bar to share a drink and bask in the company of his fellow man, his face unshaven and his clothes the same as the night before.
Yeah. That’s totally what is going on in this picture.
(Source: saveahorse-rideaspacecowboy, via soul-in-the-starlight)
Lol’d so fucking hard at...description. It really