I cannot drive.
Amazing, isn't it? At my age? I still have a learner's permit and am afraid to break 20 MPH. Clearly there's something wrong here.
The problem is I'm lazy. I also don't go many places. Everything around here is within walking distance, including my friends' houses. Clearly I needed intensive.
Alan is a friend of my mom's. He's a pretty cool guy, if occasionally coming off as a bit thick. He's also a master conversationalist and a stock broker. He takes a fuckload of vacations and plays golf.
He also, to my shock, collected comics.
Emphasis on collected. His collection, which is big enough to wallpaper his insanely large house, peters out around the seventies. I, naturally, was thrilled. I was looking for a chance to turn myself into a comic book nerd, here's my chance.
So a deal was worked out. Alan wanted to unload his comics, I wanted said comics, my mom wanted me to learn to drive.
So now every time I take a lesson I get comics. Nifty, no?
My first payload came in this week. It's about half adjectiveless X Men, and half Archie Comics—not the superheroes, mind you, the teens from Riverdale, with a Josie And The Pussycats thrown in for good measure. Join me, won't you, true believers?