He walked with the sketcher, me, to the atm together, to take out some cash to buy a beer. He went first; I didn’t expect you to stick around after. You grabbed your cash and kept talking to me about comics and death and the show and whatever.

Sketching for the last time on printer paper

No wrench will fix the scanner

Scanning the paper with whatever

Artificial light to capture the specter

Lost my job, now I work at a shoe store. I change out of my nicked oxfords they make me wear to run to the show in dirty Skechers.

With sadness etched in my forehead, with sadness etched in my forehead, covered by my curly hair.

Clenched in my chest

The light it’s so bright

I’ll show her my last drawing

And I’ll see you later

No one will know what I’ll do tomorrow before I get there, before I ask for the time. Before I cross your mind, next week my mom will call my best friend with the news.