I grew up in a box on a street in Brooklyn until a generous con-artist discovered me rummaging through his garbage. He took me under his wing - training me to be a world renown card shark by day and forcing me to make him illegal moonshine by night. Then, one glorious Saint Patty's day, in a drunken tirade, I robbed a kid on the street of her Lemonade profits sending me away for years. After five years of hard time and long thoughts, I finally came to the realization that writing should be my career. I figured it was the easiest road back to a life I never had. Sixteen years later, I am still trying to write the proper bio for myself and figure out where it all went wrong.