Walking a thin grayed line, a blunt razor’s edge posing no real threat, he stands with one foot in the sun and the other lost in the deep shadows of relentless darkness. Life unfolds before his weary eyes on seemingly hand-colored monochrome stock, sketchy and jumpy, remake of an old classic. It feels surreal and distant as he glides through strange days, in and out of a fog bank that could as well be inside his mind. Faces appear at close range but they are blank and their unseeing eyes are staring past him at another plane of that reality. Music comes and goes, rising in slow crescendos and falling suddenly to near-silent reveries. The rain is ever-present, never completely overwhelming but still spraying his soul with a fine mist that tastes like tears. Thoughts soaking in a viscous stew of rancid habits and tangled patterns, he struggles to paint a smile on himself while waiting for the next exit sign to break the routine and get him out of the rain. Once again.