Oh yeah, he's cool alright. Just call him Mister Freeeeze, chillaxing in his white suit, writing... what? Poetry? A love letter? His shopping list?
What on earth is this old postcard about? I mean, why would anyone...? Why is he...? Just WHY?
And to be totally honest, that does not look like the comfiest couch. Nor the most practical lamp. And as soon he stands up, he's going to kick over that badly-placed plant, and there'll be John Innes No. 3 all over his carpet.