From the frozen wastes of Minnesota there came a man. In his right hand he held a camera, with which he captured the world (and the souls of those unlucky enough to cross its path); in his left hand was a riding crop, to discipline those foolish enough to disobey his wishes. Upon his back was a folded director's chair, and his word carried the weight of law.
And, if you listened carefully, you could hear a hushed whisper carrying on the wind, the words of one of the few who knew his true name: 'David Fishel.'

I edit film. Je parle francais un peu. Und ich lerne jetzt Deutsche.