My parents drove a garbage spreader on a dump moon. All the garbage in the galaxy would come our way and get dumped, and it was their job to spread it around in their big old mega-spreader. Picture a tractor or a combine as big as six football fields. Like a spaceship on tank treads. It was the only other thing on the entire moon aside from the garbage. Their job was to drive it around and around, flattening the garbage in the dark, the only life and the only light on the whole moon.

Ok they didn't actually "drive" it. There wasn't anything to run into except garbage. It had a program and would just do enormous, moon-sized patterns, like a roomba with thousands of miles of garbage carpet and no walls. We just ran over it. But sometimes a tread would need replacing or a headlight would need changing and it was easier to keep a human out there full time than fly one out whenever something broke. Like a lighthouse keeper. And they let him bring a partner, and eventually I got born there. On the mega-spreader.

The machine was so big I had tons of room to myself, but it got kind of lonely being the only three people on the whole moon. So when I got old enough they wanted to send me somewhere to meet other people, and I came here, to Psychic High School.

So hello everybody! I promise I don't smell. The moon didn't have an atmosphere, and we always wiped our feet real good when we came back in from working outside in our space suits.