The NoCity – Map #1

NoOne comes to the NoCity on purpose. Most commonly there is a mishap. Storms are common in the region, unleashing heavy, glycerin rains that flood the gutters & erase boundaries; transitions become easy, accidental even. Once arrived, the sodden traveler is presented with many diversions.

“What is the matter?”

In the NoCity the matter is nigh always printed. Leaves of unfinished & forgotten comics blow up & down the streets. In the NoCity they take milk with their serial.

Adventure strips are favored most mornings. Buckets are filled with the excess rain wrung out from favored papers. That regional rain causes the inks to bleed profusely, engendering rampant excesses of surrealism in the most stoic of strips. The misunderstandings can be very exciting.

On Wednesday, the winds blow gusts of new pages. On Wednesday, the avid inhabitants of the NoCity run against the winds, catching those new pages on their faces. Whole pamphlets clog the drains, clog throats. Come Sunday, the NoCity has sleepy zephyrs of humor strips & reprints of political gags. & corpses.

“What is the matter?”

The sodden traveler, his spine bent with experience, sinks between the covers.

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