The Madame of the house has a stunning office, it’s always locked during the parties but you can see through the glass door that it’s full of treasures. There are skulls, oddities, and a medieval weapon or two. My eyes are always drawn to the basket of grenades on the desk. Late at night I’ve muttered more than once that I’d like to put one between my teeth, just play with them a little. The danger is alluring, sure, but the weight of them, the heft, it added to their power.
When I arrived to get the keys before our even the Madame and I made pleasantries, I gave her dog scritches while she went through the usual security details. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” she asked. “Actually, there’s one thing...” I replied.
She was happy to let me play with the grenades. I felt like they went with my outfit, and my general vibe for the night. The heaviness of a grenade is grounding. The perfect accessory.
I took this selfie at 5:04am, before I had to blow up an air mattress with a foot pump to accommodate an unexpected overnight guest, but right after I took photos of an intense hitachi dual.