one last time: faber castell grip 1345 mechanical pencil
The sun is rising over a city. It paints the clouds in shades of orange, pink and cream over a pale blue sky. They reflect from the glass windows, breaking into thousand beautiful shards like a kaleidoscope. A bird starts to sing a hopeful melody outside. Soon, others join. It is a bright day, the type of day they tell about in fairy tales. The day is alluring, inviting you outside. You throw open the curtains and pour your morning coffee. While you take your first steaming sip, I start my story.
a perfect pen: lamy 2000 fountain pen
It’s completely dark outside, streets only illuminated by weak slices of streetlights. The rain has finally stopped, but the stars are covered under a thick layer of clouds. The world has quieted down, almost asleep, only noise is the occasional car splashing in the puddles on the road. Even the house seems to sigh with relief, cracking and groaning every now and then and settling for the long night to come. Music has lost its voice, almost lost through the speakers, barely audible. If you like, get your one last round of drinks, evening snacks and necessary blankets. This is the last part of this story.
two cheers for black on black on black: pilot vanishing point fountain pen
As the day wears on, so does the light. It’s almost completely faded now, leaving only the blue afterglow. The rain seems to have quieted down, but the streets are still empty, people burrowing in their warm houses. The streetlights have not switched on yet, outside world is wet, dark and empty. The music has shifted a little, the notes seem a little more pronounced, but still muffled through the speakers. Get your warmest mugs of coffee, tea or hot chocolate and gather around. It is the time for the second part of our story.
the last fountain pen on earth: 90’s harley davidson fountain pen
It is a day with a raging storm outside. The wind rustles and whistles through the crevices of the house. Rain batters the roof tiles, the sound lost in the music playing in the background. The soft chimes and the big riffs invite you to get up your seat and dance. It’s a dark day and the soft glow is all that can get through the thick clouds, painting the walls in pale shadows, not illuminating the darkest corners. I slowly turn the music down, now you can only hear the thumps of the drums through the wind. Gather around, dear readers, and let me tell you a story.