When you go over someone's place a few times and it's really organized and clean, all the man mags are stacked in chronological order and the sneaks lined up by color/release date. Then, on some off day, you stop by because you forgot your whatever it was on their dresser and discover that shits gotten all explosive. Mac and cheese in a cup under the bed, clothes piled high on what he called his "reading" chair, dust bunny colonies building Egyptian pyramids near the door. Why all the foolery? It's all good. Have you seen my room? No need to pretend. I'll make you a deal, stop faking clean and I'll stop faking....clean.
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