"I just wanna listen to the Ramones, for fucks sake."

Name’s Mike Milligram. Milligram. Mikey if you’re feeling familiar — or dumb. Late twenties, give or take a few scrapes and burns. City life? Not for me. Give me dust, rust, and a busted-up dune buggy, and I’m home.

Professional pain in BL/ind’s ass. Amateur thrill-seeker. Full-time desert nuisance.

I move fast. Think faster. Laugh at things most people would run from. Chaos is my companion — the quieter it gets, the more I start worrying. I fix my own gear, I know every dead end and shortcut in the Zones, and I leave little marks wherever I go. Not for fame. For the story.

I’ve got a kid. My son. Keeps me honest. Keeps me alive. And yeah... Blue. Lost her in Zone 5. Still feels like she’s riding shotgun sometimes.

I live for the next stunt, the next run, the next chance to prove the desert doesn’t get to tell me how to live. Life’s short. Dusty. Dangerous. Beautiful. And I plan to burn through every inch of it.