Tiny Atlas: Part One

Being the first part in five of the autobiographical chronicle of a curious dwarf and his even curiouser career, as related to Mr. Florian Eckhardt at a Men’s Penal Colony in the late autumn of 2007. Read onward!

When people first meet me, the first thing they notice is not the tiny dwarf standing before them, or — as my school chums used to call me right before grabbing me by my ankles, swinging me around their heads and lazily chucking me into the stratosphere — “Tiny Midget Mowcher.” Nor is it my throbbing biceps, my oiled pectorals, my abdominals arrayed like a colony of quivering, bronze-shelled oysters. In fact, when people first meet me, they don’t notice me at all, but only the enormous, fluid-filled scrotum I carry around on my back. In short, I suppose you could say that the first thing people notice about me is my career, and considering the fact that most people define themselves by their professions, I guess that makes me as normal as the rest of you.

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