a hidden library for grown-ups has taken up residence in my attic Books with worn spines and secrets they refuse to reveal are stacked haphazardly – I'm just trying to keep pace
fueling my inner hermit with an endless supply of secondhand knowledge and stale coffee, where the only thing more abundant than ideas is the dust bunnies under my desk
observations from the margins of a well-stocked espresso machine reveal that even the most meticulously brewed cups can be reduced to nothing more than sugar crystals and forgotten dreams