I still think about Anthony Bourdain regularly, his boyish, crooked smirk wrapped around a Brooklyn accent, slightly raspy from years of smoking. I consider his Iraqi episode weekly, the covert diplomacy he dutifully served over every meal. While writing this, I almost hear his measured cadence rehearsing these words over a montage of travel shots. And I still think about how he is no longer with us, how we the living speculate about his new journey into
The Tenuous Climb to Creative Fulfillment
The Tenuous Climb to Creative Fulfillment
The Tenuous Climb to Creative Fulfillment
I still think about Anthony Bourdain regularly, his boyish, crooked smirk wrapped around a Brooklyn accent, slightly raspy from years of smoking. I consider his Iraqi episode weekly, the covert diplomacy he dutifully served over every meal. While writing this, I almost hear his measured cadence rehearsing these words over a montage of travel shots. And I still think about how he is no longer with us, how we the living speculate about his new journey into