After relocating from East to West Cleveland, the divide buffeted by a single bridge but seen as defining as the Mason/Dixon line to locals, I felt the inante conditioned consumer urge to stake my flag in the community by spending money at a local shop. Anyone who has been to west Cleveland is aware of the incredible amount of "specialty shops" that cater to the specific and the superflouous at an even clip. A born cheapskate, anything other than food, shelter, and a modest wardrobe is an uneeded expenditiure. So parusing through the "vintage" shop, running my finger over the dusty relics that will one day be the artifacts that define our culture, I marveled at how age seemed to mirror price and quickly made my retreat.

Next door was a vintage toy shop, Big Fun, which also had a sex toy corner, I've always thought the combination of the two under one roof to be a bit tacky and questionable but that is a essay for another night. A house of artifaces of bygone generations proving even Dick Cheney had a childhood. After an unenthusiastic lap i came across a box of 25 cent comics. A sucker for a deal, and remember, a born cheapskate, I bought copius amounts of devalued '90's holofoils, dubious failed storylines and characters, and indecipherable third acts to missing miniseries. Then i saw it. In the back of the box, screaming at me with its neon orange cover, Invisibles #1. I had never read any issues nor had any idea of the plot, but holding it in my hands i felt something electric within. Something primal, sublime, like remnants of a forgotten dream materializing before me, suddenly spoke to me. I scanned the store, thinking they put the comic in the wrong box and would snatch my prize away. A quarter later, my life changed.