carpenter for hire

There is a low order to hunger. It starts deep, a primal scent that is often lost to the momentum of life.

But sometimes. Sometimes, memory meets possibility and hunger grows claws. It bites cross-wise into the grooved pattern of life, slivers of habitual excuses falling away like wood shavings.

It carves itself in monstrous form, a colossus straddling the paths of desire and prudence.

And it refuses to be diminished, to be made to fit.

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