Nonfiction Works

I thought I had planned the whole thing out perfectly and had done a great job at making it a surprise.

Rows of dark mountains flew past as I drove with my girlfriend past the North Carolina border well into the night. Kali Uchis’s angelic opening to “Igual Que un Angel” filled the car. 

Strong winds carry the cold air and sulfuric smell of the bay up and down the iconic hills, eventually mixing with the lingering scent of urine and burnt methamphetamines. Walking around, it won’t take long to feel the disconnection between the city, how it wants to appear to the outside, and how it appears to those who call it home. 

I was 13 when I sat in the backyard studio of my mentor, Ron Maffett, holding my first nice brush and a tin of watercolors before me.