Our hero emerged from the cave of his family home the day after his 18th birthday. He made fire in an old sandbox, slept under the stars by its dying light. He hunted, paid for his food in the supermarket found nestled in the woods surrounding his old neighborhood.
Where others have gnomes or cut outs of old people bending over, our hero's lawn has a cross his parents built many years ago. It casts a long shadow. If it gets hot, he likes to sleep away the afternoon underneath. Sometimes, the muted sounds of those gospel choruses from the cave depths is too much.
In the evening, he likes to drive around this town, let the cops chase him around. He listens to a radio station that plays all the Hits from somebody else's coming of age. His vision a blur with dreams of being asked to the dance.
Before bed, our hero looks down on the ground from over the hill of his belly, and he goes: "I am the Lord of all creation. You will bend to my unknowable will, and leave a positive comment in your wake."