His handy work hangs around his neck in intricate copper spirals, laced through bone, glass and stone.
His craftwork ascends the Bob Marley shirts and “water pipes” typical of Telegraph street peddlers.
One might call it art.
He has aspirations of becoming “a kickass dad, with an awesome, hot wife and maybe do carpentry or something.”
Claims to be better with wood than wire, but since he moved from Virginia to the Bay, he hasn’t had a chance to get his hands dirty.
Wandering, but not lost,
Grounded yet adrift;
only bumper stickers hold the kind of truths he embodies
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