Today, 6 years ago I bought this mechanic pencil in Daegu, Korea (2010). I dropped it in puke, mixed alcohol with it (hence the rust), lost it 3 times, once in Japan and once even for 3 months, but it is still with me here in Guatemala. For an artist, this shit is studio ghibli's movie material! So many stories, so many shit I've been through and this fucking pen is the only witness of my past 6 years. how amazing that shit is? Every time I had a special moment, either happy or sad, this motherfuckin’ pen was with me, I drawing, it just quite following my traces, and still is.

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