by luke ryan
On a shelf in a freezer somewhere back in Perth, Western Australia, sits a small canister of me. More specifically, me in the year 2007, at age twenty-two, full of youth, arrogance, and both literal and metaphorical spunk.
This canister represents the last moments of my virility, before six months of chemotherapy rendered my testicles the genital equivalent of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Whereas your average man might produce somewhere in
