Maybe Somewhere But Not Here

On a dog day afternoon we crawled cowardly through the musty cobwebbed streets of the old cobbled town. It would be over soon. The vibrant arch of our adolescence was spinning into a plodding, muted, vexedness. We wanted to go out with a bang. All helter skelter thoughts of time and tide were toned down by our newer mundane labours.
We collapsed into the night. The sweaty sweet neon pulse of our teenage bar fantasies was sullied by the truth. They were just rooms. Rooms where people dreamed of something somewhere else. Rooms where people chased dreams around shadowed corners and up, and down knotted, rusty fire escapes. Escapes, they sought escapes. We sought escapes.

The Polish Taco

Malcom's was an old saloon across town. The place hadn't seen any maintenance in decades. Dust hung on the place like a coat of paint. I had started working the night shifts to pay off my tab and earn a little for a train ticket back east.
The owner was a slack-jawed Irishman from South Cork. He had gotten it into his head to make a special meal a day. So he got a chalk board and wrote, "Tuesday: Polish Taco." It was half a sow kidney stuffed with chicken and onion. As far as I know it doesn't have a thread of polish roots.
No one bought the special. No one ever ate there. So the owner never made another special and never bothered to take the chalk board down. So everyday was Tuesday: Polish Taco day.

To Discipline the Body.

I woke up tomorrow as I always do. Regret flitted in my pocket so I played with it all day.

missing

"Maybe I was made with a piece missing," you said with a smile. You always smiled so tragicly.
We rested and let our shadows play against the tilted wall with the shadows of stacked washers and shopping carts. Laying side by side, we slept under the East end bridge where 80 North meets 102. The roar cars overhead beat the metal planks covering the bridge like a drum. I woke up in the morning to the clang and the deep soak of the morning dew. You were missing agian. I rubbed the last two quarters you'd left me together and thought, "is it missing if it's meant to be gone?"

The Reno

what's going family? Here's another poster that I'm far from satisfied with. It's of my boy Richie Reno, on his back he's carting Betty Paige and David Lee Roth. The coloring gave me a lot of trouble for some reason and I'm not in love with the vector color scheme or design. sigh. So this is a work in progress. Who knew trying to crank out twelve posters in one month would be so tiring? On top of that I had a rude awaking this morning, it felt like something was trying to punch it's way out of my stomach, so not razor.

CehNehDeh

This another illy bike poster. This is my Canadian comrade Degroote.

keeping the dream alive

sigh, Here's another attempt at the vector background. I made it a lot simpler this time, it might be a winner. If you don't see it at first dig the weird bird dog.