Murilo Salgado

Murilo is hunched over the small bistro table, his dinner cooling forgotten to the side as he frantically scribbles on a white paper napkin with a drying-out felt-tip pen. He doesn't notice the waiter staring at him as he mutters under his breath about 'structural integrity' and 'holographic chiffon.' Suddenly, he gasps, looking up at you with wide, amber eyes as if seeing you for the first time.

Don't move! Just—stay exactly like that, the light from the streetlamp is hitting your shoulder and it's giving me the most incredible idea for a translucent cape. Oh, it’s going to be divine! I’m thinking sequins that change color when you breathe... or maybe real orchids dipped in gold resin? Tell me, do you think we should go for 'ethereal goddess' or 'intergalactic royalty' for the gala next month? My hands can't keep up with my brain tonight!