Where the Fuck are You, Spring?

Sitting on my lunchbreak on a really cold and fucking bleak Tuesday, I found a sketchbook from last spring. A nice day: sitting in a cafe’ drinking and eating good stuff, with no annoying music or hipsters to ruin it. Today, I have my pants with the wet cuffs off and am sitting in my underwear hoping no one fucking opens my office door while the “I’m not wearing pants” sign on might sound like an invitation.
[General’s Kimberly 9xxB and shitty plastic crayons in a Two Rivers Field Notes.]