Second attempt at the story of my life reduced to a 3x5 card. I will likely be editing this a lot, but I think it's fun to post its evolution.

In 2002, I watched my past settle into piles of ash 10 feet off of second street. Proof of my existence now resides in my head. I have no past. The village via Texas, via Panama, via Florida-- a military brat gone A.W.O.L. and adopted. My brother, built-in-best-friend-conservative, and I, socialist (mostly), bond by criticizing each other's ideas on economics, usually sharing a soda and a laugh. In the village, we were strangers. Dirty clubs, the ugly-pretty people, hipsters, black hair, pretension-- the DNA for a retired "rock star". I came to college with my pen loaded and cocked.