LYSIAS

Early Years (1978–1994)

Born March 1978 in a peeling single-wide off a washed-out backroad outside Aberdeen, WA, Lysias entered the world already unwanted. His mother, Marlene, had him too young, too high, and too stubborn to give him up. She worked nights at a seafood processing plant and slept through the days. When she was home, she chain-smoked menthols and left the TV on at full blast to drown out her own thoughts.

Lysias had no structure, no chores, no school attendance beyond what was court-ordered. He learned how to microwave food by 5, steal change by 7, and lie convincingly by 9. His childhood was defined by rotting wallpaper, ashtrays filled with lipstick-stained butts, and the distant hum of adult arguments through paper-thin walls.

By 16, Lysias was gone. He'd already been picked up for B&E twice, but the system never stuck. He floated around the Olympic Peninsula, robbing gas stations, running petty scams, and slipping through the cracks. Sometimes he lived in cars. Sometimes in tool sheds. He learned people would give you a bed if you said your mom just died-so he said it often, even before it was true.

The Death of Marlene (1998)

When he was 20, Marlene actually did die. Not from anything romantic—just her liver finally giving up. She died alone in a rented room in Hoquiam, her body found two days later. Lysias didn’t cry. He didn’t go to the funeral (if there even was one). He just got blackout drunk, burned her last letter without reading it, and kept moving. That was the first time he ever hit someone hard enough to see blood just for looking at him too long.

Wandering Years (1998–2005)

Lysias drifted state to state by rail, thumb, and theft. He'd hop trains for weeks, live under bridges, in squats, or backroom crash pads. His body was carved up by then—scars from glass, knives, and worse—but he kept going. He found odd kinship in punks, ex-junkies, and transient bands. Always short friendships ending in fights, theft, or sudden disappearances.

He never worked a real job. He didn’t believe in money unless it was stolen.

Meeting Lindsey (2005)

In 2005, he met Lindsey outside a railyard in Ogden, Utah. She was 17, feral and wiry, with a dog bite scar on her shin and nails like claws. He was 27, already weathered beyond his years. She was drinking from a gas can. He dared her to light it on fire. She did.

They clicked like feral dogs do—out of recognition, not trust.

They rode together across three states. She asked questions. He never answered directly. He liked her because she didn’t flinch. She liked him because he didn’t try to “save” her. They started sleeping together somewhere in Idaho. He never called her a girlfriend. She never asked.

Port Townsend (2006–Present)

Eventually, they settled in Port Townsend, WA, on the outskirts where the roads stop getting paved. Lysias found a crumbling cabin in foreclosure and claimed it like a wild animal. He never paid for it, but no one’s kicked him out yet. It's overrun with trash, beer cans, rotting band posters, and stolen gear.

Lindsey moved in. Then stayed. Then became part of the scenery.

Lysias survives by robbing sheds, garages, and vacant houses around town—then selling the haul to other addicts or JJ, an old friend and former bandmate who runs underground punk shows. He and JJ don’t get along anymore unless they're shitfaced, but they tolerate each other for the sake of “the scene.” That, and cheap booze.He tries to be friendly. But he’s not. He starts fights, forgets them, apologizes half-heartedly, and then does it again next weekend. Most people in the scene either fear, pity, or loathe him—sometimes all at once.