There are days, when you just have to roll with the punches.
Today is on of those days, quite a downhill roll if I do say so myself.
And I do have to say it myself, 'cuz no one else will say it for me, I have no friends, or family, to help give strength to my voice.
I stand alone, all alone, on the stage, my microphone is broken, and the audience is screaming at me.
How, you might ask, is one heard above the noise, when no help is forthcoming?
Good question.
I'll let you know when I find the answer.
And so begins my life's story, we pick up where my mother left me, on the bank of the Beartooth River.
Where an old dwarf, traveling to far from his cave on his old, arthritic legs, finds me, in the freezing cold of mid-winter.