And when people ask "why him", all I can say is "why not?". It's actually pretty simple. He's an outsider. You look at all them rich boys with their perfect whitened teeth, and their v neck sweaters and polo shirts and you manage to guess they will never put a finger up to accomplish anything, there's always someone behind their every move. And you look at him, he's a catastrophe he's a mixture of drugs, alcohol cigarettes and midnight hookers, with nothing to prove, with no one to take responsibility for his mistakes, with no pre planned future.
And so in a heartbeat, his worn off knuckles and dark eyes, his scars, simply become, *home.
it is not anyone in particular, I just found out i`m in love with the word catastrophe