“All colors made me happy even grey.” Nabokov, Pale Fire
A German carpenter by day working hard to follow a Jewish carpenter, exploring writing as a creative outlet. Passionate about learning through practice and observation.
Morning came like a pothole at sixty miles an hour—sudden, jarring, and hard to blame on anyone specific. The rooster down the road, probably unionized by now, took turns with his feathery co-conspirators alerting the neighborhood that the sun had clocked in. Matt rolled from his stomach onto a suspiciously angled hip and blinked at