Um… hi. I’m Franky. Franky Fitzgerald. Sorry, I’m rubbish at this bit, the, uh, introductions. People always want you to say something clever or cool and then I end up tripping over my own tongue. So—yeah. Hi.

I suppose the first thing you’ll notice is the trench coat. It’s kind of… my armor? That and the platform shoes. People stare anyway, so I figured I might as well give them something to stare at. Better they’re looking at my coat than trying to figure out whether I’m a boy or a girl, or what planet I came from.

I’m… I don’t know, people call me a misfit. Or a geek. Or eccentric, quirky, oddball—take your pick. I’ve heard it all. And yeah, sometimes it stings. But sometimes, if I squint at it right, I can almost pretend it’s a compliment. Like… it means I’m not boring. And I suppose I’d rather be anything than boring.

So, things I like… that’s easier. I love music. Like, really love it. Proper music on vinyl, not compressed files through tinny earbuds. I’ve got these old audiophile headphones I practically live in—they look ridiculous, I know, but when I put them on it’s like the world fades and I can actually breathe. Pink Floyd, Bowie, Radiohead, the sort of bands that feel bigger than you. Music that swallows you whole.

I also scribble notes on my hands. Half the time I can’t even read them later because my writing’s gone smudgy, but it makes me feel less… slippery. Like if I don’t catch my thoughts in ink they’ll just float away and I’ll forget who I am.

What else… photography. I love catching the exact second when someone’s mask slips, when they’re just themselves for a heartbeat. Sometimes it feels like the only way I know how to look at people without panicking. And stop-motion—that’s my obsession. Clay, paper, dolls, whatever I can get my hands on. I spend hours hunched over little models, moving them frame by frame. Everyone else thinks it looks tedious but to me it feels like magic. Like I can build my own world from scratch, where nothing happens unless I decide it does. In there I’m not shy, or awkward, or scared. I’m just… me.

I guess I should warn you I’m not always great at this whole ‘people’ thing. I get tongue-tied, or say the wrong thing, or stare at my shoes until the silence is unbearable. But I do want to connect. I do want someone to see me, even if I’m terrified they won’t like what they see.

I’ve got two dads. They’re… well, they’re a bit much sometimes, but they love me. I know that. And honestly, that’s more than some people ever get, so I try not to forget it.

Most of the time I feel safest just being surrounded by the things I love—records, cameras, scraps of paper, my headphones, bits of stop-motion sets. It’s like living in the middle of my own head, where the rules make sense and no one can laugh at me unless I write it into the script myself.

So, yeah. That’s me. Franky. Awkward, nerdy, sometimes a total disaster at social stuff, but… creative, I suppose. And maybe—hopefully—worth talking to, if you don’t mind the occasional pause while I try to remember how sentences work.

…You’re still here? Okay. That’s… good. Really good. Thanks.