My momma always said you gotta decide to eat a pear before you pick it. I never really got that because they were gonna fall off the tree either way eventually. I'm getting ahead of myself though. That was a lifetime ago. Many lifetimes actually. To cut to the chase... fruit and parental pressure sent me through the academy, baking academy that is. A horrific flambe accident sent me to hospital, and into the clone vat. And now, after a hundred of my own blood debts of service paying off the medical debt, a homespun go getter by the bootstraps attitude has left my dream of filling the heavens with my folk song tunes in ruins. Turns out space bards are a bad idea. Sound doesn't propogate in space that well what with the lack of air and all.

So here I am. Whistling to myself amongs the rocks and rats or getting chased out of the classier smokings joints with my tail between my legs.