I was born in Lincoln, Nebraska, on January 9, 1962. My father was in the Air Force and served in the Korean War, and my mother was a nurse for a time. I attended the Art Institute and a small college in Texas.

During my time in Texas, I experienced a breakup with a long-term fiancée and became unemployed during the Great Recession of the mid-1980s. One day, while riding a bicycle on a blisteringly hot, Arlington street named Collins—also sub-named Industrial Boulevard—a fierce-looking punk rocker rode his motorcycle alongside me. He paused briefly, perhaps curious about my presence, because in those days, bicyclist were outliers on the road. At the time, people didn’t ride bicycles in Texas unless they were broke and friendless—and I was both.

I saw that punk rocker several more times on the streets of Arlington, the flare of his red mohawk making him stand out in traffic. Many months later, I got a job at a pizza restaurant, and there he was again—the same punk rocker I’d seen in only brief, mystical moments. We eventually became the best of friends. I didn’t so much join the punk rockers and new wavers as I was assimilated into the underground culture by my friend.

Although he has since passed, I will always divide my life into two parts: before and after I met him.

Thomas ean Carney