I believe ideas should become aspirations. Aspirations that we do our best to achieve. It’s just my opinion though. At least that’s what people say.
Knuckle bump thanks to Jesse Heagy for coloring this monster. Working on a series of one page comics that will be combined into a comic called Sassafrass. This is a page from it.
I found her somewhere in the depths of San Bernardino. She caught the corner of my eye. With a look like that she quickly became the focus. What struck me as odd aside from the obvious, were these neon green rolling papers she slings out. Naturally, I thought she was getting ready to inhale the devil’s grass. That was until I seen her crouch down to pick up three smashed cigarette butts from the front of the liquor store where I was picking up my daily amenities.
She tore out what little tobacco was left in those lipstick stained butts, stuffed them into her papers and rolled ’em up. It was gross, unsanitary, yet resourceful and mildly romantic.
I asked how she was doing. “I’m smoking butts, how the fuck you think I’m doing?” I apologized. “Sorry, I asked too early. I’ll ask again after the first drag” She broke character and smiled a very short smile.
Being the gentleman I am, I lit her makeshift cancer stick with Irma, my lucky torch.
“What’s your name? I’m Dave” I say reaching out my claw. Staying in character she smiles a wide smile “Fuck off”
She walks off into the setting sun like a fading sunburned polaroid. The biggest kick I get is only knowing her as Fuck Off.
Yesterday’s comic exercise. I draw sketches multiple times a day in my sketch book (current book named Merry Peebles). Head sketches, abstract concepts, ect. I grow bored of this. I since then started adding backgrounds. Still eh, When I can afford to lose myself in time, I open up and draw one panel comics like this. They never take as long as I imagine, but then again neither does life.
Here I am.
Saturday night on the Sunset strip. No better than a tourist chump looking for a cheap thrill.
I’m here about a dame. The siren kind. Nothing romantic at the moment. On the hunt for entertainment. I stumbled upon her two weeks back. She was doing one of them rehearsal sessions.
I was out carousing with the liquid phantoms trying to shake the mopes for a night.
Her and those boys she was playing with let me in for a song. I figured they were hurting for an audience, so I sat in.
She must have seen the drool on my chin. After the jam she invited me to one of their shows. A real one she called it. Said she’d even put me on the list. I told her “No one ever put me on a list that was good” She smiled and gave me a tap.
I think it was her way of copping a feel on me. It’s been too long since a knock out like that laid a finger on me.
Too long as in never. In the corner of my eye I seen the bass player not taking too well to the flirt. I took to it though. I took to her pretty good also.
So, here I am.
Saturday night on the Sunset strip.
I go to the front past the line of unsuspecting fashion victims. A neanderthal with the rings of Saturn stained on his arm pits guards the door. He gives me a bull blast from his nostrils.
You can never be too assuming in a situation like this I says to myself. I lean forward and whisper in my best adult voice
“I’m on the list. Dudley Morse” I tell him.
He snickers. They always snicker.
I never use my real name. Not to strangers. Not even to a bombshell. I’ve learned the hard way on how many shapes and sizes creeps come in. Dudley is who they get to deal with that.
I’m in past the soiled velvet rope. Just in time to hear the first act finish up.
The joint looks like a disco ball exploded leaving nothing but the scent of cheap cologne and polyester shrapnel.
I ask the bar keep for a beer and house whiskey. I settle in the debris, patiently waiting for that siren song.
I got shut in for the weekend, I wanted to get out, so I compromised and wrote about going out. This story is going somewhere, but I it’s important to get feedback for me sometimes. This being one of those times. Let me know if you’d be interested in more of this kinda stuff. Until then, thanks for reading this far.
There is a ghost that haunts me I call ugly. Ugly is vain. I have made an agreement with ugly. I draw ugly. The many interpretations of it. Some forms it prefers to others. So longs as I draw ugly it deflects it’s interest in attacking me. My personal goal is to draw ugly so much it may be interpreted otherwise. Then maybe the haunt will bug some other loser.
Letting Off Steam
I think I forgot to turn the oven off.