I was twenty-two years old, a hard-on with a pulse, wretched and vice-ridden. . .too much to burn and not enough minutes in an hour to do so. The year 1995 was a full 365-day year of drinking, fucking, lying, raging, and exploring. It was a time of self-shit: self-importance, self-absorption, selfindulgence, and selfishness. I was the only person in the known galaxy, and I wanted what the fuck I wanted sooner rather than later. The gift of life was horseshit; all I wanted was everything and I wanted it fast. There are certain mornings when I can still feel that year in my joints and the fatty tissue of my back. The crazy thing is that if I could do it all over again, I would, but this time I would take it even further than before.