The Graphics Designer

Previously

…Our raven, Bartholomew, perched precariously on a stack of oversized, slightly lopsided croissants, wore a tiny chef’s hat askew and a monocle that gleamed with an almost impudent intelligence. His beak was slightly open, as if about to let loose a caw of pure, unadulterated joy, or perhaps a scathing review of a poorly seasoned béchamel. Beneath him, in a font that I’d lovingly nicknamed ‘Wobbly Wonder’ – a daring blend of Art Nouveau flourishes and something that looked suspiciously like it had been scrawled by a toddler with a crayon – was the restaurant’s name. Hungwe leaned closer, his brow furrowed. Desire, who’d slithered in with the subtlety of a particularly oily anch