self-portrait, ink on paper

tom sunnatom's cabin was in the middle-of-nowhere, a well constructed humble abode, it could resist the winds-of-change, rainy-day-women and the grapes-of-wrath. each evening, after supping, while smoking his pipe and having his heart warmed by the fires of eden, tom drifted off into a state of reverie, then slipped out under the front door to be met, held and embraced by the one and only ms. milky way. together, in this after dark duet, they solaced their wretchedness.

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