Lawyers are allowed into Giuliani's NYC apartment after he misses a deadline for turning over assets

I'm imagining a seedy nest of lechery; empty whisky bottles strewn haphazardly on every surface imaginable. Opening kitchen doors is a gamble, and snake eyes means you've put your hand in some unidentifiably pungent, sticky, or greasy substance.

A glassy-eyed Giuliani sits on the battered leather couch that's stained with a decade of fluids and spirits— he has become a part of it, sinking into the foam and springs. The lawyers kick his dangling foot, and life flutters back into his limbs; he shakes off the headache that has followed him like a bloodhound throughout his adulthood, letting it settle to a throbbing pulse in the back of his head. Black bile seeps out of this psychic wound as he cries out to an indifferent universe, but only a feeble croak escapes his lips.

Why won't they release the pics?!