Trevor Faulk was a good man. He awoke eagerly every morning, showering with one foot out of the shower at all times that he might have firm footing. He buttoned his shirts every other button downward before buttoning upward through the remainder. Breakfast consisted of a single hardboiled egg with a slice of ham, and he often made a game of cutting the egg using only one hand. The neighborhood children would leave stones from the river on his window sill because they knew how much he loved them.

I got back to this rather late tonight because of excellent company. Thank you, company. You were excellent.

The title for this comic sounds like a condescending indie rock album, and knowing that, I feel rather guilty for liking it. Perhaps I will get the title tattooed in a figure eight on my chest, encircling both nipples in gothic print.

This could simply be called "the harvest", but then I wouldn't get to point out allegory like an ass.

I'm forgetting to mention something here, and of course the frustrating part is somehow remembering that something has been forgotten while I have very obviously forgotten that something. I'll take this opportunity to remind you to wash behind the ears.

-Tyrus Peace

Not Included turns 1 today. Hey hey! I should've started this on my birthday so it would be easier to remember.

-Tyrus Peace