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.