Troubled Son page 16

11x17 • mixed media ink wash • hand-applied word balloons

The past has teeth.
Sometimes it texts you out of nowhere.
Sometimes it walks through the door with questions you can’t dodge.

This is the page where memory folds in on itself—
where bar stools become liminal spaces, and every word feels like the last before the panel ends.

Places vanish.
People fade.
But the mess? The mess lingers.

Original page available now.