This is my muse. She and I haven’t been in touch lately–not since Springtime, really. While I was visiting great lakes and the finer recesses of nearby ballparks, she was busy turning the arms of her sofa into pocketed treads. While I endured the pleasures and rigours of playing host or running on sidewalks, she drained cup after cup of lemon-lime soda through a straw and transformed the cardboard and plastic detritus into something almost pretty to look at.
While I was wondering when I was going to ever see a movie again, she started looking something like Franka Potente in cheap footwear, except without The Running.
I can’t say why that is, only that I hope her appearance here, however disheveled, means that I get to draw again.