This is actually an autobiographical drawing. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time in space stations, or am used to drawing goat-creatures or aliens from life. But I did grow up in the suburbs of a large American city. (Well, it was a large city then. Not so much any more. But that’s another story.) It was the mid 1970s when I was first old enough to ride the bus downtown by myself, and the first panhandlers I remember meeting were disabled Vietnam veterans. There was one man I have never forgotten, less for his disfigured face than for the blanket he wrapped around himself and the big pale dog he always had with him. Even as I teenager I knew that giving money to people in the street is problematic, but then as now, someone with a good dog can get my spare change when no one else can.
That man and his dog are both long gone now, I’m sure, but I was thinking about them when I drew this. And I remember being sure that when I was grown up I would be less confused by life’s wild inconsistencies and better at dealing with painful things.