Silas Flatten is a third-year business manager and assistant photographer for the Westlake Featherduster, a title he earned after winning an intense underground rock-paper-scissors tournament held in the morgue in Room 281. In his spare time, he fundraises for feminist causes using nothing but charm, cryptic QR codes, and the persuasive power of soft jazz played from a portable speaker.

A firm believer in the transcendental power of street food diplomacy, Silas dreams of splitting his time between Puerto Rico and New York City, ideally operating a rooftop pigeon rescue in one and a subterranean philosophy café in the other. His love for Syrian street meat kebabs is matched only by the joy he feels when the kebab vendor calls him bossman—a title he takes more seriously than “sir,” “mister,” or “unofficial mayor of the cart.”

He consumes shakshuka, the national dish of Israel, every day at exactly 11:13 a.m. for “spiritual alignment reasons,” and often describes the tomato-egg mixture as “the breakfast of revolutionaries.” He is also an amateur sommelier of sparkling water, with strong opinions about bubble density and bottle label font.

Long-term, Silas hopes to own a funeral home—one with mood lighting, ambient Gregorian chant playlists, and a café in the lobby that only serves espresso and existential literature. He believes death should be dignified, but also just a little bit chic.

When he’s not busy plotting the future of grief with high-concept mortuary design, Silas enjoys cloud watching, decoding airline route maps, and dramatically reading Wikipedia pages out loud at dinner parties.