Portraits of men I drew in my teens.

I discovered one of my old sketchbooks I made as a child recently.

A small book I forgot i made.

Portraits of strong cartoonish men in polo shirts

Large arms.

Big brown noses on big brown heavy faces.

And when I put my own face closer to the page, I could smell their signature colognes. Bodies shaped by rituals uninterrupted and maintained by marriage and routine.

Good, I thought.

I drew them in front of the tv. I remembered that as soon as I saw the first man on the first pave.

And I blushed, feeling warm. I stared deep into their brown eyes. All good men, all kind to me, all made me neaseous with their colognes, all men I’ll miss.

On this day today