Machado Sul Grande Canal Venezia

Playboy. Hef had discovered a way to grow up, be a success, and yet remain a big child, indulging any whim or desire to whatever degree he one long party, living more days than not in pajamas.Mick, who worked mostly more than 150 pairs of peejays. He slept in the nude but sported pajamas during the day.He considered himself an acolyte of Hef. Casa Sachatone had nothing to do with furniture or art. Except for a suite of work rooms that Mick had [437] added to the original structure, all but two walls in the house were lined with shelves on which were stored a collection of thousands of pornographic videotapes and DVDs. Shelves had even been added to the stairwell and hallway wallsA mini-Hef. Mick was forty-two going on thirteen.“Hey, Cork, super-hip threads,” Mick declared when he opened the door and saw Corky dressed as Robin Goodfellow.This might have sounded like mockery to a stranger; but Mick’s friends knew that he had long ago stopped picking up new slang in an effort to be more in the Hef groove.“Sorry I’m late,” Corky said, stepping inside.“No sweat, my man. I’d run this pad clockless if I could.”The living room contained as little furniture as necessary. The plush sofa, plump armchair, end tables, and lamps had been bought as a set at a warehouse outlet. The quality was good; but everything had been chosen for comfort, not for looks.Mick had no a man of simple if sometimes obsessive needs.The primary decor statement in