Vegas was an amazing place to grow up, there was never a dull moment. It wasn't the most ideal place to raise a kid, but Tavvy didn't really know that and he'd still combat with that till this day. The product of a biker passing through the city of sin and a mother who had been one of the many dancing features that lined the city filled with lights, it wasn't conventional in any means. Octavius, or Tavvy as he is more often called, spent his time in and out of school before his mother finally decided that online schooling might have been easier with their schedule.

Tavvy learned pretty early on how to take care of himself, it wasn't to say that his mother didn't raise him. She was young, and trying her best to make sure the both of them had a comfortable way of living for the most part. His father hadn't even known he existed till Tavvy had started asking questions when he was 13 years old. It took a few phone calls, some research, and a lot of back pedaling to track down the guy but somehow Tavvy and his mother had managed to do so within just seven months. The man had been living in New York and despite the dirty biker appearance that his mother remembered, and had been attracted to the man was actually a very intelligent businessmen that had a nice piece of Manhattan under his white collar rule.

Making a good go at trying the whole high school thing, attending Las Vegas High School just didn't really work out for him. He'd gotten along with most kids, but Tavvy never actually fit in as much as his mother had liked, or that he really cared to. Dropping out a quarter way into his Junior year he'd tell his mom about an idea he had to travel from Vegas to Manhattan. He'd been keeping in touch with his dad daily, and the man had no problem with Tavvy staying with him. There was the usual hesitance of a mother and some back and forth arguements but eventually she caved, and Tavvy was able to drive from Vegas to Manhattan at the age of sixteen. It was a choice that he'd never regret making.

Manhattan was an insane place to live, but it matched so perfectly with what Tavvy had always imagined. His father was a loving, but bust man and gave his son a lot of freedom, maybe even too much. Since he wasn't going back to school he would go right into earning himself a living, or at least a little cash to spend. He wasn't someone that enjoyed spending his fathers money if he really didn't have to. He'd work odd and end jobs washing dishes at one place, maybe mopping floors at another, and working the register at a dollar store somewhere around as well. It didn't matter to him, and as long as he was getting some form of income he was pretty content with that.

Aside from homelife, from trying to work his ass off as best he could, Tavvy still had a pull towards that more extreme and more loud side of him. He would find his niche though, and Central Park had become somewhat of a beacon for him to harness this new found freedom for his soul. He'd gotten lost in listening to the different preachers on their proverbial soap boxes, he'd travelled back in time watching the old men playing backgamon and he found solace in musicians row. It wasn't anything extravagant, but it was something that felt more real than anything else ever had before. A small row along a wide walkway in central park. Musicians lined up on the benches, all sorts of different music playing. No one tried to be louder than the rest, out play the person a few benches away. Everyone was just trying to do the same thing, he wanted that.

Becoming a regular in Central Park. Spending all of his free time, his weekends performing. He had a guitar, occassionally an amp depending on his mood that day, and a even a keyboard other days. He would belt out music through his strings or through his vocals, he'd started with just covering songs that he knew. Songs that spoke to him, and he'd put his spin on them too. Eventually he got into the idea of writing his own music, performing his own songs and he would. During the summer weekends he would go even a step further and sometimes a group of them would work together to make something that was more than music, that was just greater than anything he could think of. Tavvy let his body, and soul do the speaking for him after the park had made a permanent mark on him. He was open to all the possibilities of the world.

Into his early twenties, when a stroke of genius had slammed into him one morning. Up until that point he had been content with skating by on life. He didn't have to depend on his family to support him, he still worked odd jobs but there was a solid three that actually paid the bills for the tiny space he'd acquired in Astoria. He realized though, looking out into the streets of New York City at 4am that being content didn't mean that he was happy. This couldn't be it for him, and he wouldn't allow it to be either. Scrapping together what he could over eight months he would take two weeks, becoming lost physically to find himself spiritually.

Coming home, Tavvy had realized many things about himself. He had been missed, especially at the park and that was the first place he'd stopped before even making it back to his apartment once he returned from his trip. India had been somewhere he was able to find himelf, or at least a piece of himself. He knew what he had to do to find the rest though, and it wasn't going to be easy. Spending a little over a year saving, and working double shifts and taking up extra and sometimes less savory jobs just so he could make a dent in the amount of money he had saved up. He'd eventually have enough, and he'd go to the bank with high hopes only to be shut down fast and hard for his lack of credit history. Something so small, so insignifigant had managed to crush him. His parents noticed this with ease as he'd become a slug for a few weeks, but it was his father that would take him back to the bank and co-sign on a large business loan. Tavvy didn't understand why at first, his father was a great man but they were two very different walks of life. It was at that point that his dad explained to him that he was too scared to live out his dreams at Tavvy's age and he wakes up every morning regretting giving up on them, he couldn't stand for the same to happen to Tavvy.

June 10th 2016 'Habit' would be born. Having purchased a small but sufficient three story building in Hells Kitchen, Tavvy would keep the top floor for himself while the other two were dedicated to his work, his lifes work. The basement had been pieced together with help from the friends he had made over the years. Other musicians, lifestyle fanatics, and even a few that had links to recording studio's and other musical backgrounds. They had all had their input in the making of the basement at Habit. It would be transformed into something that looked like an underground club and coffee shop hybrid. A place for people to come to, and hear music in a way that they never had before. It was a safe place for musicians to go unjudged and have the freedom to play whatever kind of music that moved them. The first floor of habit had been left bare, and almost down to the joices. The natural light was all that he needed for the daytime, and at night he'd set up enough light to keep it sunny all through the night.

The first floor was an art installation in it's own way, and inside of it he was allowed to be anyone, everyone, and himself. He put his own pieces up for show, and he welcomed in local and distant artists that were passing through. The level of expertise was never a question, there was no need to limit who could walk in, who could expose themselves to the world. It was a place for people, made by people. The second floor was a personal space for Tavvy. It was where he worked, where his work lived and came to life. He'd made sure to keep this place sacred in a sense, having used some of the items he'd acquired from his trip to India and infusing the space with all the vibes that worked for him. He'd transformed the open space into an art studio where he could work on whatever medium spoke to him at the time, another portion hand built into a music studio. It was small, and not nearly as developed or high-tech as a space one could get but it had what he needed when music spoke to him. The last leg of the space was dedicated to finding himself. He'd used the stretch of bare cement and broken windows to rebuild and form a sort of spirtual sanctuary for himself.

This was the life that Tavvy had built for himself, and it was where he felt the most whole. Central Park is still somewhere he feels he can call home, it will always be the place he gives credit to the beginning of an amazing journey. Still playing there, still listening, and still learning from others.