I decided in the night that I couldn't go ahead with me plans. Instead, I chose to remember my lonely and sad childhood. It was funny because I felt that my parents loved their pets more than me, although I was their flesh and blood, their birth son, born of trauma and broken birth canals. My parents had a workshop in the basement where they fabricated details and created masterful faux-finishes. They had two children: myself (they called me Peanut) and my younger brother (they called him Corn Nut). They had four cats and an indoor gymnasium. The cats each had their own room, while Corn Nut and I lived in the crawl space above the camper van which sat unused in the free-standing garage behind the house.
Our family name was Irkwell. As Corn Nut and I grew into teenagers we became very punk and started a band called "Cribdeath." We practiced in the garage every Tuesday afternoon with sticks on barrels, a broken electric guitar and an amp we found in a trash heap down the street. What an interesting trash heap to be sure.