Inking comic pages. Been inking all day. In between inking I do small water color paintings. Creating worlds allows me to escape mine. Only for seconds though. It's like a drug. The little rush takes hours to achieve. Then reality sinks. Things are not terrible in reality. It's just not where I care to be. The feeling I get from creating reminds me of home. At least the closest memory to home I can remember. The real home, where ever that was.