Started out in a clapped-out Studebaker with bald tyres and suicide doors, no spare or jack. Bad directions and the wrong map put me on back roads from Hell, and soon there wasn't even any road -- just a strip of grass down the middle of a trail of mud.
I'd lost my job as a ticket-taker in a run down porno theatre on the lower East Side after the Meese commission ordered a crackdown. I was already three months behind with the rent, and the door had new locks when I got home. I slept rough in the park that night.
I found an old stately home that was now on the wrong side of the tracks -- there was barely a window left in the place, but I found a room that offered some shelter. I explored, and found nothing but a box of old LPs in the attic, and fashioned a record player out of a tattoo gun, a busted pot, and some pantyhose.