Now, Judgment Studios.

Okay, so as a kid, after some side-johns, my parents moved us to a town called Mount Pleasant,

the home of Central Michigan University, and there, they released me to my own reconnaissance,

the Mean Streets of Mount Pleasant, where I meet a pack of similarly situated youngsters

and every day we run feral.

I leave in the morning, returned sometime as the sun sets.

Casual staff offer peanut butter and jelly, where wild, lost boys, unbridled freedom of

a type that is absolutely illegal today.

We play with fire and explosive and knives, climbed random ladders, die out in front of

the cards.

It's glorious.

But there is an economy, even the childhood freedom.

Candy, video games, baseball cards, soda pops, still cost money, and my parents, they never

hurt the child of this magical concept of an allowance.

I'm young and broke.

Three square in a cot, no popsicles, no comic books, no Detroit Tigers baseball caps.

But just as I start to feel sorry for my 10-year-old self, the Michigan legislature steps

in to revolutionize my personal finances.

They mandate that every can of soda, beer, or water can now be returned to the store

for a 10-sink deposit, 10 cents a can.

Suddenly, the streets are littered with aluminum gold.

They are for the taking.

...