Brief Author Bio:

Everyone is born. My mother used to love to tell this story of my birth:
There had been a five day fog over the city, it was a Sunday morning, just as I started to bellow, the fog began to lift, cars honked their horns in celebration, and church bells started ringing. She looked at me, all red-faced and wailing, with long black hair sticking straight out of my head, and she thought, oh my god, what have I done?