During my informative years as a child, I survived being incarcerated at several different orphanages around the north side of Chicago. One of them was called, Angel Guardian Orphanage. At another one, I can't remember the name of, I got chicken pox and was put in solitary confinement for a month in the infirmary. I had two windows that looked out onto several tar-covered rooftops and three beige walls to stare at. They gave me my meals through a little opening in the metal door that sealed me in, like an ant in an ant trap. I remember being scared and lonely.
Those 30 days were the worst days of my life, but I think that was when the first attributes of the crazy writing gene first appeared. I'd make up stories to keep my mind busy. Most of them had to do with going back to my mom, who was in a TB sanitarium, getting treated for tuberculosis. Others had me inheriting money and buying the orphanage and setting the other kids free.