Garland Gallaspy was pronounced dead in a hospital in Columbus, Mississippi. Minutes later he was pronounced born. At age three his mother would throw him up into magnolia trees to pick the blossoms, chanting, “Who’s my little monkey?” At age fifteen he achieved a disturbingly high fever during a battle with strep throat. At some point he hallucinated, inventing a new color, and to this day cannot accurately describe said color. At twenty he was abruptly confronted by puppets, and within four days moved to Nashville, Tennessee. His first time downtown, a Sunday afternoon, he witnessed a man urinating upon a church; he quickly realized his move was a damn good decision. At some point he decided he needed Polaroids in his life as a way to reach into his pocket the next morning to figure out what happened. This too, he now knows, is a damn good decision.