| |
Joel Quinones
My tale begins in the Los Angeles area, home to fallen stars and artificial light. I was a precocious solitary child, often seen only observing. Deep into my adolescence I completed the forced institution of school and began the travels of a nomad. Not across the country or the world, but searching for local paths hoping to discover other versions of myself. I was quickly cast in the stone of music. Not having the ability to operate an instrument, I became a fervent listener vowing to spread the sound of those who moved me. I began to weave my words with their notes. However one cannot stand still for too long until you begin to fall. New York then beckoned and I arrived. Somewhere under the New York skyline coffee fell into my cup. It began for me as a morning ritual, peeling sleep away with its aromatic seeds and lifting me into the day. I have since learned the history and all the variations of coffee, but for myself nothing will ever replace the first cup of morning coffee with a tiny dash of cream.
|
|
