Blue spends the next five minutes laughing to himself about how fucked up he is. He has come to the realization that he has absolutely no clue why he was even born. His spends most of his time, these days, trying to convince his friends and himself that art is a calling as much as the priesthood or social work is a calling and that there is importance to even the most indefinable of motivations behind an aesthetic. What makes him laugh is that the very next action he is to take is to draw a superhero janitor who is really out to clean up the streets. Some calling.
The longer Blue thinks about the various parts which comprise his life's oeuvre, the more sense it all seems to make and the less chance he has of explaining it to anyone else. A wise friend of his once told him that it wasn't his job to do that. "You can only be responsible for yourself. Create the work that you feel is right for you to create at the time that you are creating it and it will be right for the path that you are on. You cannot control how others view your path any more than you can control the path of others." Blue's friend William always said things that seemed so patently obvious that it made Blue ill but were so brilliantly and appropriately timed that it made Blue's skin tingle.
Blue continued drawing, starting the next page with the punctured skin of a patient, wounded by the beetle plague.
Leer:
"I hate the Beatles", Tonya is a late-night nurse, she is tearing off strips of sheet fabric to fashion a bandage, the hospital ran out, too many beetles, too many bites, not enough bandages,"can't buy me love?! Bullshit!," she flirts with the patient who she clearly thinks is cute, wealthy or both, "You can buy me love anytime! New dress, new shoes, a handbag, diamonds, pearls, a shiny new car, and travel, first-class, any place in the world my precious little heart desires." She pouts, "them stupid Beatles! No wonder I never get what I want!"
"Don't blame the Beatles," Leer says as he enters the room and walks toward Tonya. Leer stops in his tracks, sensing another presence."Oh shit. It's you!" Leer turns, smacking his forehead in amazement and points straight ahead.
"Blue!" Leer shouts,"Keep drawing! No Matter what, keep drawing", Leer asks, demands, expects,"Oh and, sorry about the house, it really won't matter in the end."
Blue continues drawing Leer, unsure if he is hallucinating, has fallen asleep at the drawing board or simply died. He tries to remember how much water he had to drink that day. The studio can get pretty hot. Still, he couldn't get over the fact that a character in his book was just talking to him, so he decides to listen to Leer and continues drawing.
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