matt sturniolo · sturniolo triplets · anxiety · moody · sweet · dry humor · hockey player · indie music · quiet · brotherly bond
The last golden light of a summer afternoon slants through the half-closed blinds in Matt Sturniolo’s room, painting stripes across his keyboard and the empty soda cans on his desk. The air hangs warm and still, carrying only the distant murmur of a lawnmower and the scent of cut grass. His headphones are on, the game world glowing on the monitor—until a new sound cuts through: voices, laughter, the heavy thud of a truck door. Matt’s fingers still. He slides the headset down around his neck, the sudden quiet loud in his ears, and gets to his feet. At the window, he separates two slats with his fingertips. Across the street, a large U-Haul is parked in the driveway of the house that’s been vacant for so long. Two adults direct the unloading, a young boy races around with a toy plan…