Lets start from the beginning. These are the memoirs of my life. They are sensationalized. They are absurd, and at many times not quite true, but always rooted in the heart of my experience. We like to think we are special, and when we realize in the scheme of this world we aren't we get so fucking sad. I’m starting to realize that this is bullshit. If anything ,hell, if I had to make one grand bet it would be that we can all draw upon experiences growing up and find a common ground. The fact that all people are so much alike makes me feel happy. I’d be depressed if I had a “special” life. Instead I shared the collective power of existence of growing up.
I found that time changes dramatically as you grow up. I mean, hours, minutes, seconds...they all stay the same right? It’s funny though. Time seemed to move very slow when I was young. I grew up in Yonkers, NY. I had a short stint in Brooklyn, and I only bring that up to get me street cred at bars sometimes. But the reality was my entire life began on a small block in a suburb outside new york city. So Here is my entire life. This 3 bedroom apartment, a backyard and about ¼ miles of road in each direction. There was no internet, and I got a nintendo at my 7th birhtday.
The summer was fucking electric...
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