Excerpt

Call me Oscar Progresso. Or, for that matter, call me anything you want, as Oscar Progresso is not my name. Nor are Baby Supine, Euclid Cherry, Franklyn Nuts, or any of the other aliases that, now and then over the years, I have been forced to adopt. No one knows my real name anymore: it’s been too long. And all the things that I myself once knew are like a ship glittering in the dark, moving away from me as I am left in homely silence. My time is drawing to a close, so I thought I would take one last shot.

And here you have it, the chronicle of my failure and my isolation, which are told through victory, and of my victories, which are told through failure and isolation: loneliness, really. My life has not been simple, but I am sure of my story . . .