He knew his place wasn’t really visually appealing. Flint had tried to convince him to hang up art to entertain his sighted guests, but Jet refused. If they wanted to look at art, they could do it in their own damn homes. Instead, he put up basil and mint in a little windowsill bed because they smelled amazing. He had the softest sofa and three microfiber blankets laying over the cushions. He had tile floors he could heat with the touch of a button and a surround sound stereo for days when he just needed to drown out the thoughts in his head.
