A comic about life, love, death, and chiaroscuro, in about three colors.
It was a typical Wednesday. Some girlfriends from the old countryfound themselves in Vegas and decided to look me up. To kickthings off, we stopped by Paris and picked up some strawberrydaiquiris in ridiculous, plastic Eiffel Tower cups. One thing led to another and I soonfound myself impressing all andsundry with my Lou Reedimpersonation. I am universally loved. Ha! Loved? Convenient youshould forget to mention thebit where you accidentally litour waitress on fire...

Song of the Thin Man


I am probably going to die soon. A lot of ghosts, absent for years and years, have suddenly began contacting me. Kim (AKA the Anti-Kate), was one of three in a single week.


Anyhoo, it had been about three years since I had seen either Kim or Beth, and as luck should have it, they randomly ran into a mutual friend (that I am still in touch with) and randomly mentioned plans to visit Las Vegas. The mutual friend then not so randomly mentioned my current whereabouts. The rest is history.

I drove to the strip after work and we decided to do something stupid and touristy: get ridiculously huge Eiffel Tower daiquiris. The bartender, doll that he was, made them “extra strength.” It got Beth silly; it got me singing; and got Kim sick.

Welcome to Vegas!

We did a lot of walking that night. Eventually we found ourselves sitting in a swanky bar in Planet Hollywood (casino). I was telling some contorted yarn or other, emphasizing my points with flailing hands. A waitress approached our table, unaware we were simply loitering, and walked right into my cigarette. I apologized profusely, but she gritted her teeth and pretended nothing was wrong, despite the fact her uniform was ruined.

I vowed never to tell another story while drinking fruity rum in a cup shaped like a landmark ever again.

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