I think I was nine when I found my dead grandpa's parker fountain pen. I never new what model it was and lost it before caring about it; but I remember the golden arrow on top of that machined-aluminum body, and I remember how that 'silver' nib amazed me. Moreover, it had an 'M' in a circle engraved on the barrel (grandpa's surname?); so personal, so mythic, so extraordinary. It was not the old pistol that was also there, in that old leather suit case of his, it was that fountain pen (can't avoid the tears just right now, sorry). Time passed and fp's remained a closet, postponed passion that I could not share with those careless friends of mine (did they also keep their passion silently for themselves?). Lately (couple years ago) it came back with renewed strength and this lasts months (I moved to a different country, started a new job and a new life) I decided to spend some time, money and ink to let it grow. And here I am...