Originally published January 12, 1996, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1156
I felt the oh-so-gentle jab of a toe in my rib cage. The snow against my mouth tasted like New York snow usually tastes: dirty. What else can you expect from something that’s fallen through the air? After all, who knows where the air had been?
I tried to raise my head and get out a word that sounded vaguely more intelligent than a simple low moan of pain. Unfortunately, I was not particularly successful on that score. I made a sort of “urkh” sound, but that was all.
• 
Recent Comments