I sat in my office, nursing a glass of hooch and idly cleaning my automatic. Outside the rain fell steadily, like it seems to do most of the time in our fair city, whatever the tourist board says. Hell, I didn't care. I'm not on the tourist board.
READ MORE SEE ALL STORIES“ "Why do you write about angels?" and I say, I don't know; I try to keep them out, and they crawl back in like cockroaches. ” READ
I was twenty six when I first met Dave McKean. We met in the offices of a telephone sales company, several members of which, we had been told, were going to bankroll an exciting new anthology comic. It was the kind of comic that was so cool that it was only going to employ untried new talent, and we certainly were that.
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