By Luke Usry

He wrote his manifesto at the typewriter desk his mother had given him for his eleventh birthday. There was no typewriter, only the little wooden parts that swiveled in and out like miniature shelves and made the whole thing seem more like a bizarre contraption than anything remotely functional. He had wanted a new skateboard.

He wished something would come of the manifesto but never dreamed that it would and the dream came true but the wish didn’t. His mother found it a few years later when they were moving him out for college and they both laughed like hell.