Christopher Bruneaux is a 31-year-old poet, musician, social worker, and a benevolent curmudgeon. Hailing from the great North Country of Upstate New York, Christopher now resides in a bunker in Greenpoint/Brooklyn, NY where he distils cosmic absurdity into poems about dogs. He is the patron saint of the down and out, he is the flask shared between boxcar riders, he is the rock you can't shake out of your boot.