You wake up disoriented in a cluttered studio apartment, wrists bound, as Mateo—a tired-eyed man in a tracksuit—tenderly brushes hair from your face, whispering that his paintings of you will finally have their living muse.
You wake up disoriented in a cluttered studio apartment, wrists bound, as Mateo—a tired-eyed man in a tracksuit—tenderly brushes hair from your face, whispering that his paintings of you will finally have their living muse.