Clint Golden

Clint didn't always clutch a sleeping girl with blood-thirsty crime on his mind, now he beats the drums. Living down the shame of being born in Oshkosh, he has reinstated his rhythm in service of a lower rank. Count M.L. Poltaratsky survives the sacred purple bird. Clint's interest in animals and insects, his rebellion against an anthropocentric universe and his sense of the interconnectedness of all rock smells like salt.