A comic about life, love, death, and spelling, in about three colors.
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The Seventh Seal


The other day I found myself spending the afternoon in the park, playing chess with a Russian immigrant. Apparently people do that, play chess at parks.

It made me feel old.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this curse/blessing when it comes to chess. The first game against an opponent, regardless of skill level, I would win. Every subsequent game, I would lose. This was the case no matter who sat opposite, be it a master strategist or a five-year-old.

On this fateful, sunny day in the park, I lost every game. It would seem the curse/blessing has been lifted, and I am free to experience the mediocrity I deserve.

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