About the work

The hammer wasn't his, not yet. He’d borrowed it from his mentor's set, the one with the handle worn smooth from decades of strikes. He always made sure to return it to its exact spot in the toolbox, even though he knew he’d need it again the next day. The weight of it in his hand felt different from his own lighter, newer model, a sense of history settling into his grip with each nail driven. It felt like an obligation, a standard to live up to. Sometimes, he wondered if the old hammer held any memory of the countless things it had built.