The child of a librarian and a steam shovel, I cut my teeth on on a Corolla, and by the time I was 6 I'd moved on to abandoned crackhouses in downtown Detroit. For my service, I earned myself the key to the city. The cops wanted me to stick around, but no, I had other dreams to dream, other cities to taste. I became a wanderer: I rode the rails, resisting the urge to snack and strand myself. I made friends with the propietors of junkyards. I paired my meals with diesel fuel and brushed my teeth with oxy clean. I tried Chicago, New York, Boston. Tasty enough, BUT I WAS STILL HUNGRY...
