It’s not that she forgot. How can you forget a weigh on your chest? A twinge in your brain?

It was just that, lately, ideas had been slow in the head and even slower onto paper. She liked to think it was because she wasn’t feeling it. Problem was, she hadn’t been “feeling it” too often it seemed.

It was getting harder to think on the comic, easier to muse on everything else. It was getting so bad, that every idea seemed like good ones. Except, when she went to draw, it was to be crumpled and tossed, just as the many before it.

Time for a break. Get out before you suffocate.

So...she decided to salve her cabin fever by way of leaving her apartment to “find inspiration”. A phrase which here means take in a show, dick around at KA-BOOM, go to Café Au Lait and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee.

The load off her mind alleviated, her mind refreshed slightly, she strolled into her apartment building. The phone was ringing while she unlocked her door. By the time she opened it, a voice filled her apartment.

It was Julian Soles, editor of Red Lite Magazine. Red Lite was the magazine of choice for the pretentious elite of the generation, writers and artists with no respect for history, determined to blaze their own mark on the world, get everyone to conform to their beliefs. Dylan didn’t particularly care for the publication, but needed the money.

C’est la vie…

Anyway, he was informing her that it was imperative that her illustration arrive at the office as soon as possible.

Inwardly, she shrugged off his suggestion. Yeah, yeah, sure.

Outwardly, she ripped the cord of the answering machine from the wall before his message was finished. This was the fourth time he’d called her during the week.

The weather is pissy and this close to freaking out. We advise you to shut up.

She sighed, dropping into the chair at her workspace.

Woman, thy name is mediocrity.