There’s an art to trapping one’s thoughts and nailing them up for all to see. Like a roadside freak show, the stories swirling through Jerry Bernardo’s head are equal parts enticing and gut-wrenching. We’ve all climbed the mountain of life, but not everyone comes back clutching a trophy. Some of us stumble down to the village empty-handed, hollow, with nothing but the echo of our own footsteps as proof we were ever there. Climb aboard the Miserable Torpedo and hang on tight. This ride doesn’t steer clear of the tainted neighborhoods—where scars stand in formation, relics of romance gone feral.