After his debut EP “71 to 20,” Meavy Boy returns with dreamy post-Hollywood landscapes, afternoons spent staring at desertified golf courses of a world in jovial ruin, shut down Mc Gregory malls and furries where he mourns the emptiness of a plastic existence, watermelon-flavored cocaine tangents and Chrystal Pepsi oceans where yachts never return to shore and neon lights reflect dry, laughing dreams, the euphoria of the skyrocketing Nikkei index, breathtaking beauties, glass towers lost in fog, intelligent dolphins connected with the mainframe matrix of the collective consciousness, a subtle mockery of 80s Silicon Valley cowboy tycoons wiping out their wounds after a sweat jog in the blinding light, designing a web that will soon envelop the world, poisoning it, devouring it, making it even stronger, as a suffocating night-time Dubai heat, until tears of Xanax and champagne flow.