Satellite SF office
Every artist/genius needs that one special place to go to where ideas and creativity are permitted to flow with ease, flow like an arrow skimming the air on its trajectory to the heart of the beast. My satellite San Francisco Noble Rot office is beginning to feel like that place. From this elegant leather-clad chair of soft umber, I will with reclined feet toss the occasional southward glance through the window, arching my head in such as way as to impress anyone who walks in the room.
Wine.
Wine.
The impetus of revolution, my friends, is wine. I have come west to lay amidst the fields of grapes, to cake my boots with the clay of the ages and to listen to the desires and despairs of the people in the country of wine. Will my grammar improve as I drink and discover more wine? No. Will my physical traits burst forth and demand to be set in marble by experienced and knowing painters? Possibly. It is time to blossom into the celebrity my mother always dreamed I’d be. Onward!
My Timberland's. Cellars of the world: here I come.
