Growing up in a wooden shack in South New York, I didn't exactly have the most luxurious of childhoods. My mother was a drug-addicted whore and I spent most of my days chained to a cinder block.

It wasn't all darkness and captivity though. I had my imagination and my toys, my favorite of which was Momma's shiny metal rocket ship. I later learned it was a pipe she made out of baking foil to smoke what she called her "candy". Momma didn't like me playing with her rocket ship.

And occasionally Auntie Marie would stop by to keep an eye on me while Momma went out. Marie was nice. She would tell me stories about the Jakes and the Johns. She would often try to smoke Momma's empty pipe and I would say to her "It won't work Auntie Marie. The rocket ship doesn't have any fuel in it." So we would then play our favorite game: Find Momma's Rocket Fuel!

We never found any.

One evening Momma was particularly angry. Marie was supposed to come over and baby sit, but she was running very late. She slammed and cursed and threw things, scouring the shack for any leftover candy but couldn't find any. So she unshackled my ankle and said with a grisly smile "Come on Joey. You and Momma are gona go for a walk!"

Little did I know at the time that it would be a walk that would change my whole world.