So named because of Alfred's dressing gown.

So.

Fucking.

Proud.

Of.

This.

I really mean it. I know it needs a background, and the table looks a bit... askew... but I'm proud of everything else. Even that little wisp of smoke. Proud of it. Proud I says.

"Alfred Moore, not having any other plans for the weekend, spends his time at home. He sits in his large red armchair and stares at the fireplace until his eyes sting and his eyelids grow heavy. He puffs away on expensive cigars, hypnotised by the patterns of smoke issuing from his lips. Raising a brandy glass to his mouth, he dwells on his own misery and loneliness. Wasting away so many days on his own, refusing to socialise or let anyone grow too close to him. He hates who he has become, and he hates remembering all that he has lost. He tries so hard to forget, but he cannot."



Alfred Moore (c) Alter Ego (c)