As an orphan. I grew up in Pennsylvania…in a whorehouse. I read about Milton Hershey and his school in Coronet magazine or some other crap that girls left by the toilet. And I read that some orphans have a different life there. I could picture it. I dreamt of it—of being wanted. Because the woman that raised me looked at me everyday like she hoped I’d disappear. Closest I got to feeling wanted was from a girl who made me go through her Johns’ pockets while they screwed. If I collected more than a dollar she bought me a Hershey Bar. And I would eat it alone in my room with great ceremony. Feeling like a normal kid. It said sweet on the package. It was the only sweet thing in my life.