What can I write that the battle between the homeless woman and the more fortunate says:
Nothing and probably everything, exacerbated by the aggressive male shouting at his friends.
The homeless woman suddenly seems benign, and in the silent hotel rooms of comicon attendees I imagine an apathy of the reality of what is New York City in the long wait of my delivery back into Brooklyn's Lowkey waiting arms.
I write this with a pen picked up from Roll'n'Roaster which used to be on the corner of 3rd & 11th way before I really understood those cross streets. Picked up after MoCCA Fest 2004, where Chris Chua and I had a table sitting next to Sophie Crumb as Moby and his model girlfriend careened past glancing at our comic book.
I'm drunk as fuck an have spent this con and MorrisonCon in Vegas just talking to up and comers who don't have nearly the reverence of Old School characters as my generation has. They want to create and I want to get them paid.
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