Air Conditioning: The Graphic Novel

I just installed an air conditioner in my bedroom. If I wrote faster —  drew faster —  I’d turn the tale into a graphic novel. It would have text, sub-text, and fine print so fine you’d never see it.

But I do everything slowly, like a sloth, without the satisfaction of knowing that I’m meant to be slow.

I’m writing this from my bed — twin-sized, with a restless mattress — and the air conditioner is to my right, humming like a nurse with a cradle to rock; save for those moments when it sounds like a nurse jailed for infanticide, rattling the bars with a metal cup and begging for mercy.

See what I mean? Text, sub-text, and fine print that can only be felt.


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