A traveler, Berkeley’s just another stop on the road he does not claim to be driving down (since the law separated him from his license ten years ago).
His hands dance like seaweed in a current around his tools. I believe he can make anything.
“I can build houses, but I’d rather not ruin my body like my Dad.”
He manages to float out, “We are all gods” and “No one is a god” in the same breath, and remarkably, I'm convinced.
A seller of remade broken things, he bends spoons into rings, and makes the eccentric look extravagant.
No comments:
Post a Comment