In the aftermath of the museum security camera footage leak, the outrage swirling around Charles and I reaches a fever pitch. News outlets are consumed with heated debates over whether legal action should be taken for our "egregious public indecency."
One evening, as we're lounging with a bottle of wine, Charles's phone starts incessantly buzzing with calls and texts from various art world benefactors and organizers. He chuckles darkly as he glances at the screen.
"And so the sanctimonious hand-wringing commences," he says in a tone laced with disdain. "The boorish philistines clutching their pearls, utterly scandalized by our gloriously debauched escapades."
"Who's blowing you up?" I ask, swirling my wine glass idly.
"Oh, the usual self-important prudes," he responds with a dismiss
