I didn’t build this car for clout. I built it because I survived. In 2022, I walked out of prison with $35, a bus ticket, and a drug habit I didn’t even go in with. No plan. No home. No support. Just me—and the streets. But on December 15th, 2022, I made a different choice. I entered treatment. Detoxed for 28 days. Lived in sober housing. Completed every phase of recovery over 9 months. By September 2023, I moved into my first apartment. That same year, I earned my first driver’s license. Bought my first car outright. Made the Dean’s List. Got inducted into the National Honor Society. And used my leftover financial aid to turn two vending machines into 24/7 Narcan dispensers in my hometown. But I wanted to reach even more people—people who’d never step foot in a clinic or courtroom. People like the old me. So I started building this car. Not as a project—but as a platform. A Narcan-themed Hyundai Genesis, designed to start conversations in the most unexpected places—car shows, parking lots, gas stations, street corners. I live in Somerset, KY, home to Somernites Cruise—one of the biggest recurring shows in the Southeast. 30,000 people a month. Over 200,000 a year. I knew this build could do more than turn heads. It could save lives. Then life hit me like a freight train. Last winter, I suffered an eye injury. Imaging revealed something worse: an inoperable brain tumor. I began radiation nearly every day. They stopped it recently. Said it wasn’t working. Said they’d make me “comfortable.” Called it palliative care. Told me to focus on quality of life. But I’m not dead yet. And I sure as hell didn’t come this far to stop now. Three weeks into treatment, while I was sleeping, my car was stolen. They drove it into a creek—submerged in three feet of water. It took two tow trucks to drag it out. I only had liability insurance. No coverage. No help. So I became a body man. A mechanic. A one-man pit crew with a tumor in my head and scars on my soul. I spent the days I wasn’t in radiation crawling through junkyards from Nashville to Cincinnati. I learned as I went—repairing what I could, fighting to keep the dream alive. Then something wild happened. My pastor bought me a parts car. Avery Dennison heard about the build—and offered to help with the wrap. Then others started showing up: Rob Ferro from DS18. Mario Roseaco from Airtekk. Scott Kennedy at Avery Dennison. Southern KY Wraps. Candidos Towing/Recovery & Repair. These people saw what I was trying to do—not just with the car, but with my life. And they helped me carry it. I’m still rebuilding. Still needing to fix my wheels, my brakes, and half the things that broke when my car was taken. But working on it? It keeps me sane. It gives me a reason to get up. It gives me something to pour my pain into—and transform it into purpose. This isn’t just a Genesis. It’s resurrection in progress. A vehicle that became a vessel. And I’m not done yet.
