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How it all got started: Me and my art.
A year ago from now, when I was just a scared little 7th grader, I met this kid named Rico. He was cool, funny as hell too. One day we ended up sitting together, and he hand me this book. A sketchbook. HIS sketchbook. He was an artistic kid. Good. Amazing. Makes my good stuff look like s**t. Anyways, he let me flip through it and explained some. It was cool, a sketch of his dead friend, a few sketchs of twisted images, etc. Some random words with a graphiti/maze vibe.
He ending up dropping out that year. I miss him still. But to this day I hope to not only be as good as him. But better.
The End
This is part one in my long line of autobiographies.