So this is how I see my trade. More to the point, how I once saw it. The work calls. You spend an eternity listening, and watching, and grabbing what you can from those who walked a path before you did. You know the history. What goes where. Absorption happens. And when the routine becomes a routine. And the juices are leaving your body through both tear ducts. And you know you just know you can no longer work for the man. It’s when you get a sign. And a workbench. And start swinging tools. A collection of outliers who each answer a different calling and the same one too. That is us. That was us. Or maybe it was just me.
All This By Hand
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