Okay, so, here it is all done after 47 hours of labor. The hair was the second-hardest part (the most hardest part I can’t talk about, due to the bad condition of the nerves that are waiting to get worked on in the M*A*S*H unit in my soul). Here’s the thing about drawing hair: it can take a few hours sometimes to get it right, and even then you hardly ever actually get it completely right, especially if you’re me, which I hope you’re not. But I guess I’d rather draw hair than cut hair, even if cutting hair’s a ton more lucrative. Or so it seems, anyhow, in this fictional town where we fictionally live, where celebrity barbers drive around in Silver Ghosts and artists run around in Flintstones cars.
Anyway, pardon the grumbling. Blame it on the neighbor’s grumbly old truck that keeps circling the block every six or seven minutes all day and all night long. Wonder if there’s any money in doing that? Hard to figure how there could be, but the way our world works, you never know. Maybe he’s being paid to help bring on Peak Oil (assuming we haven’t blown by it already). Maybe that’s a plan the multi-nationals have, kind of like a Goldfinger plan: make a valued thing scarce so the value goes way up. I need to get in on that action. I can drive around the block a billion times a week, no problem. I mean, we sort of get a scratchy echo of public radio way out here, plus I have plenty of audiobooks left over from my commute to school, so it could be a tolerable job. Just have to find the right size of Thermos to fit our weird-sized cup holders, then I’m good to go.