typographer

When he was sixteen, he designed Select Sans for Rolling Stone.

Consider his career launched.

He held the podium for twenty-five minutes at TypeCon. He put out designer t-shirts that had multiple levels of meaning. He tried his hand at electro and fell short.

In the 711 near his new house, he fell in love for the first time. A shirtless black kid was watching taquitos roll endlessly behind stained plastic. The kid's friend told him to come on. The kid shifted and examined the scene closer. It was something so new to him, not because he'd never seen it before, but because he'd seen it so many times. The taquitos were faced. Everything was to a certain extent. Acid gave his world character.

He wanted to touch the kid's back, seamless and thin. But the kid wasn't like that, and I don't mean that in the way you think I mean it. I just mean he was from a different universe.

Sans serif meant nothing to his friends outside the industry. It was redundant to his friends inside the industry. You don't make a lifestyle out of your job. You don't become sharpened, you snort what you can afford. Your weight is approaching your pants size, not black.

This all stopped mattering when he grew up.