It had been that way all the way through high school as well. Art is for sissies and no one wants to be a sissy. I didn’t care.“You need to work o... perspective,” Blankenship said, pointing at one piece of art. He moved to the next. “There’s no depth.” At another, “You should be a cartoonist, that’s the only direction your art is taking you.” “What the hell is that?” It seems like he didn’t have a good word to say about anyone. He stopped behind me and just stood there for a minute. My drawing. “I don’t know; probably old lady Daisy breaking wind.” I offered as my pulse continued to pound audibly in my ears. Daisy was a retired blob of cellulite that lived below us and was a frequent yet unknowing subject of our discussion about the trouble with women. “Damn high fiber diets!” Barry retorted; “Think the explosion came from the power plant – want to check it . . .?” Another flash and the phone went dead. Quickly reviewing my options, I secured the gas valve and joined my. More

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