Highways gleam with two kinds of mica as Burma Shave boasts, I have lives like a cat Taking heed of the exits that exist for my money I stock up on earthworms, making protein from fat —America Coming Undone Now I am but a lowly boy who will die all alone with a knife in my heart, and my heart in my hand. Dishonorable foes bellow I never got punished; but I formed the rock in this world built of sand. —Terrible Nail Have you ever felt a temporal lobe explode when you learn your sons are not your own? —Are You Kidding Me, Bruuuce?
Terry Scott Boykie is a native of New Jersey, where he spent the first twenty years of his life trying to play baseball. As a child, he wished he could have been Mickey Mantle, and as an adult, he wishes to thank Bruce Springsteen for not growing up to be a baseball player or like Terry Boykie.
When he has money, Terry travels, enjoys restaurants, and watches movies, new and old. Right now, he has no money, so he rests his extruded lumbar discs while watching films on Netflix or tiny birds from his tinier apartment. He may sound boring, but for those in need of scintillating conversation, Terry is always available to play devil’s advocate as long as Boston Red Sox’ fans do not expect his support. . . ever.
Terry has lived in Washington, DC, for most of his adult life; happily, he no longer seeks the company of Republicans unless they are women who possess Parrish-blue eyes.