by Ron Barbagallo

Jerry’s beady eyes were seething. I want what this person has. How can I get that? Who can I copy? I don’t have a deep skill set to draw from, or any taste, but how can I get something? I am not sure. At the same time, Gulliver was making his way from the theater. He turned the corner and the brightness of the sun cut his eye. The crowd. The street. Other people. He had to stop himself before he collided with it. And as Gulliver’s eyes adjusted, low and behold, Jerry’s shadow came slithering its way across the concrete.