It got a little lost in the election, but Nowhere Near Savannah came to an end on Wednesday.

Anna illustrated and wrote the final comic, turning in, I think, the best of the series: heart felt, honest, and real. When she told me that she couldn’t keep going anymore, we discussed how to end it, and Anna suggested that it would work with end notes on the characters. Things like Djae getting addicted to crystal meth, Michelle finding a nice boy, Cas having a moment wherein the trolley guy at his work got hit buy a truck on the way home, Dee going to America, and me, I go to a Vanilla Ice concert. But the truth is, those kind of end pieces only capture a little bit of the story, and sound a lot more finished that the comic was ever meant to feel in relation to its narratives. Nowhere Near Savannah was an autobiographical comic, and its beats and shifts moved to what was going on in life, and the theme, or at least what I began to connect with after the first half a dozen comics, was what it meant to be alive and living in your thirties, with shitty jobs, vague futures, and relationships that come and go, with various degrees of importance. I made a lot of jokes because I thought I was being funny and most people seemed to dig it. But there’s nothing in this that says that a permanent, closed up end was the way to go, and so after thinking the idea around for a few days, I told Anna no, we’d end, just suddenly, on her final comic.

Maybe that doesn’t sit right with some of you out there, but it sits fine with me. It’s life. Life gets in the way of the shit you want to do. Sometimes because it exhausts you, sometimes because it excites you, sometimes because it bores the fuck out of you.

Still, the thing is, Anna and I did Nowhere Near Savannah for a year. We were fourteen comics off the end, but it doesn’t matter: we did a cool thing, we did it for free, and I hope you all dug it while it ran, and that you have your favourites, and non favourites. I have mine, as the writer, and I have things I’d fix if I could go back, and things I’d do if I could finish, but this was a project I shared with Anna, and I have no interest in it if she’s not here to draw all the silly things that I think will be cool, and to later write comics that show me how little she needs me at all.

It was a pretty cool ride, though, and I hope you dug it while it was here.

No.

It’s as simple as that, no. You’re wrong.

The fact that you call them terrorists only further underlines it.

You keep going back to this.

It’s proof that you have no idea what you’re talking about.

Fuck you.

Fuck me?

Yeah, fuck you.

Want me to say it again?

Say it all you want, but it doesn’t change how wrong you are.

Fuck you.

Disneyland is the best terrorist target in America.

The fact that you don’t see it is due to your entire misconception and romantic view of the subject.

How can you say that?

Do you see this child we’re walking right past?

Did you just point at an eight year old?

Yes.

His mum didn’t look happy.

That’s my exact fucking point.

Look, if you have a sudden thing for kids, man, I’m going to have to leave you here.

Children are sacred.

…

That-

That so doesn’t help you right now.

Why can’t you accept the fact that the presence of children in Disneyland raises it not only as an acceptable target, but the best target for which to strike at the moral core of this country?

Thousands of dead children would create mass fucking hysteria.

I keep telling you: there’s no fucking point to blowing up Disneyland.

It’s-

Terror!

Terror is not the fucking goal of terrorists.

Dude, I don’t know what you been hearing since we got here, but terrorists hate their culture and only what to create terror.

Disneyland is the symbol of that shit and the best way to do it.

That-

The line passes.

Take the fucking line passes for an example.

It’s the perfect example of how money fucking changes everything in this country. See, if you have the money, you get the preferential treatment. Cashed up, you get to avoid all the wait and the fucking unnecessary presence of you’re fellow human beings. It doesn’t matter if you’re good looking, if you save peoples lives, if you’re a serial killer: cash changes the treatment you get.

That attitude has even translated into the world, and is the exact thing terrorists want to strike against: the excess.

How do you explain fat people, then?

What?

If you’re fucking fat enough here, you get to go to the front of the line as well.

Did you not see that dude being pushed around in a wheelchair by his kid? That kid must’ve been twelve and is pushing his Dad round in Disneyland, which as got to fucking suck as a memory, but both of them got ahead of us on the Toy Story ride.

That just supports my excess theory.

Which is where you’re flawed in your argument: terrorism is not a strike against excess.

Fuck me, here we go again: terrorists are freedom fighters.

How can you believe that someone sits around thinking that they’re evil, or a terrorist, or some shit like that?

I mean, do you realise how idiotic it sounds to actually think that someone, anyone, anywhere, sat round and said, “Someone has freedom. Someone has the money for a line pass. Lets take it away by plowing a 747 into them.” It’s like a super villain who wants to destroy the world; it’s a stupid concept because if it succeeds, they kill themselves as well, which makes all elaborate evil plans nothing but suicide plots.

No, man, terrorism is about politics, about making statements. That’s why they pick political targets rather than swarms of sugar hyped white kids.

And dead adults say more than dead kids in your books?

Dead adults don’t mean shit, that’s why their buildings matter.

Fuck that.

And.

And admit it, your desire to pick Disneyland as your target to create terror has nothing to do with the goals of your hypothetical terrorist cell, but rather because Charlie called you this morning and admitted to sleeping with Snake.

…

Which you have my sympathy for, but children shouldn’t have to suffer for that.

It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is.

Yeah, it is.

I mean-

Just.

Just what the fuck, y’know?

…

I thought we had a thing, man. I really did. It was a connection.

And I work with both of them.

It’s all shit, man.

She could have waited, too.

She could’ve waited till I got back to tell me.

She could’ve done it to my face.

She could’ve waited till after she picked us up from the airport.

The worse part, man, you want to know the worse part?

There’s a worse part?

I was looking forward to going back. I’d taken a shit, I’d finally got some movement in my fucking guts, and-

And I thought, when I get home, I can take another shit on my toilet and fuck my girlfriend and not doing anything but shit and fuck for two days.

But now you want to destroy Disneyland.

Yes.

Also, I still say it makes a good target for terrorism.

Don’t-don’t get me started, man.

…

Shit, I am not here for this place.

Look at it, look at all these families, all this fucking colourful shit, all these parades.

Fucking hate them all.

We kind’ve fucked up by coming here on the public holiday thing, got to say.

It doesn’t matter.

This place could be empty, and I’d still fucking hate it for the lie it is.

It’s just an innocent fantasy, man.

Yeah.

Well.

The innocence is gone, isn’t it?

Okay.

Okay?

I have a new plan, Cas.

Lets here it.

We pull the car over.

Where?

Here.

In the middle of the fucking freeway?

In the middle of this goddamn giant fucking freeway, we pull over. It’s only four lines of full traffic to the side of the road, shouldn’t take us less than ten minutes. Maybe less if we’re lucky. I’ll just bully my way through.

Once we reach the edge, we get out of this fucking car.

Leaving the car doesn’t solve our problem.

I’m not finished.

See, once we get out of the car, we use our automobile expertise to take it apart.

Our expertise?

Then, from the parts, we use our brilliant minds, and build a time machine.

I see.

Thus, once we have assembled our time machine from the parts of this fucking car, we can finally go back in time to yesterday, we can be like that dude from Quantum Leap, except we won’t drop into our own bodies, no; instead, what we’ll do is appear before ourselves just before we walk into the car rental place, mere minutes before we tell the guy at the desk that no, we don’t really need a GPS device.

Your plan is to go back in time and beat ourselves up?

Whilst screaming, THERE ARE NO MAPS FOR PURCHASE IN LA!

This is a plan without flaw.

Thank you.

Also, where’d these fucking cars come from?

I don’t know, but you’d think one of them would have a map-

Shit, there’s sign says to the airport!

Fuck!

We had to go up that ramp.

That ramp disappearing into the rain behind us?

That ramp.

Shit.

No.

No, it’s not a prob. I’ll just take the next exit and back track.

I feel like such a fucking hick on this freeway.

It’s only the traffic that makes me feel like I’m from a small, backwards country here.

I’m just going to hang a left off this exit, okay?

I don’t see why not.

If we come across a chemist, pull over, alright?

Why you want chemist? They don’t sell maps.

It might sell laxatives.

…

…

I’m pretty sure this isn’t the time for laxatives.

What with us being hopelessly lost and all.

It has stopped being painful.

I’m sure this is a bad sign.

I’m not doctor-

Yes, you are.

Oh.

Right.

Well, in medical expertise then, I’m sure your fine. I’m sure the absence of pain is part of the normal way these things go.

There’s that word expertise again.

It’s a good word.

You don’t know fucking shit about shit, man.

Don’t get fucking pissed at me, man, I’m fucking driving.

You’re the fucking reason we’re lost!

Hey!

Don’t make me drive this fucking car into the walls of Dodger Stadium!

We aint’ anywhere-

Hey, that is Dodger Stadium.

I was hoping I misread that.

I don’t think Dodger Stadium is near the airport.

Or, like, the freeway.

If I find a cliff I’m going to drive this car off it.

Just find the signs again, and we’ll go back to finding the airport.

I think we should ask someone.

Again?

When we pass someone, I’m going to stop and ask them.

That didn’t work at all the last two times.

If you spoke Spanish, it would.

You’re blaming me?

It’s convenient.

Besides, you had that yelling thing a moment okay.

Yeah, man, I’m sorry about that-

Car parking lot!

Huh?

Car parking lot.

People who work in them ought to know where shit is, right?

Like people who work in service stations?

That would’ve so worked if you spoke Spanish.

That’s true.

Okay, ask this dude.

Okay, lemme drive closer.

…

…

…

Hey, mate, I’m not from around here and I’m bit lost.

Think you could maybe help me out?

…

Ah, sorry, mate, I only speak English.

Bit of French, if it helps.

…

Dude on the other side? He speaks English?

Right, sweet, thanks, mate.

…

…

Really, Spanish.

I should’ve learnt it.

So many things I need a time machine for.

Do you realise you use mate a lot when you’re being Australian?

I don’t try to be Australian.

…

…

…

Hey, mate, hi.

I’m just wondering if you could help me out-I’m not from around here and I’m fucking lost as, you think you could help me?

…

Just the airport, mate.

…

So, down this road, hang a left, follow-did you say Hope Street?

…

Shit, you did say Hope Street.

Okay, then I just got to get on this express lane that’ll take me pretty much through there?

…

Alright, thanks, mate. I’d offer to have your children if this works out, but, y’know, men-all that birthing bullshit isn’t something we really do.

…

…

You did that just for me, didn’t you?

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Mate.

Haha.

That dude has probably sent us back to fucking Dodger Stadium just because of that.

Nah, nah, look, Hope Street.

It’ll be all sweet.

And if not?

Spanish phrasebook?

…

…

Hey, he wasn’t lying: the freeway.

Fucking awesome.

Now we just need to find that express lane and we’re fucking gold.

You know, the sad thing is, we’re not even driving for the hostel we’re staying at.

All this effort just to return a hire car.

Yeah, it’s a retarded, but-

No fucking maps.

Anyway, what were you saying earlier, man?

I just didn’t meant to get pissed. Just had a fight with Charlie last night, so…

Yeah, I heard.

I figure she’s kind’ve pissed because I didn’t go back when her old man went into hospital.

She said it wasn’t serious.

He had a heart attack.

Heart attacks are kind of serious.

You offered, though.

She said it was fine.

She said there was no need to come back. I mean, if he had died, I would’ve gone.

I probably would’ve gone back, myself.

I mean-

Just-

Snake Boy, y’know?

Yeah.

I got this feeling, right, I got this vibe-it’s like this bubble sitting right inside me, that the dude has fucking appeared while we’re here.

But more than that, I reckon he has said the right the words for the moment. He’s told her how he is here for her, how he’d always be here for her, and-

Hey, the express lane.

You even listening?

Yeah, man, I’m with you.

Look, what can you say? You got to have faith, man. You can’t think the moment you’re not there, she goes off and sleeps with Snake.

I can’t?

No, and you can’t definitely think that they filmed it, and you’ll accidentally find it when you return?

That thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

And you cannot think that when she does some new and freaky thing that you really dig that she learnt it from him.

…

And you can’t-

Shut the fuck up.

Haha.

Yeah, you laugh.

She doesn’t like you.

Obviously.

Well, the reason she doesn’t like you is cause you took a shot at Snake the first time we met.

You can’t see my tears because they’re on the inside.

See, Snake is her best friend.

You can’t talk to her about him loving her, because she just shuts it off, and won’t hear you say a word against him. It’s jealousy if you do. I mean, she used to talk about it, but she just sits there silent until you press it so hard, that she gets angry at you.

Doesn’t it upset you that she hates me?

No, not in the least.

Though I did think she made a mistake trying to set you up with her friend who has the facial scars and takes baths with her dog.

Thanks.

But you’re ignoring the fact here that he will try and be that guy she she leans on right now.

Or sleeps with.

I dunno why I tell you this shit.

Neither do I, but cheer the fuck up, man, cause the airport is in front of us.

Heeeey..

Fin-fucking-ly.

All we got to do is part this car at the rental place, drop this car off, and find a fucking cab to take us to the hostel.

Finally, we can pay someone to take us where we need to go.

Now, where can we ditch this car?

Your phone is ringing.

I hear it.

Planning on answering it?

Probably shouldn’t.

Oh?

Lemme just say I’m glad it’s your phone that I borrowed while I was here.

…

…

I hate you.

I know.

You’ve been in this country for four fucking days, bro, and you’ve already left some kind’ve mess behind you-where’s your fucking shame?

I tried not too, but I just made a bit of a mistake, and when I tried to make it better, just made it worse.

I mean, I’ve apologised, but apparently that’s not good enough, so…

I don’t want to know.

Good.

But.

But?

But aren’t you an adult now?

Meaning?

Meaning shouldn’t you know who to fuck and who not to fuck now?

Most of the time.

When Cas gets back here I’m going to laugh at you with him.

I’ll give you ten bucks to not do that.

Ten bucks?

I bet him that I could live consequent free for the entire trip. If he knows, he’ll call it on me when I least expect it.

Gimme my ten bucks now.

…

Thank you.

Incidentally, I can’t believe you made that bet.

It seemed very easily back in the airport.

Idiot.

I’m going to assume then that this guy you’re going out to dinner with tonight has a good job, respects women, and won’t turn out to be psychopathic, then?

We’re not talking about me.

No?

No.

Well, alright, but when you’re telling me what a freak this guy was a few days after you fuck him, I want you to remember this moment, and how I didn’t lord it over you.

How I accepted that you’re a flawed individual who sometimes makes poor choices.

I want you to remember that.

You really fucked up, didn’t you?

Ah-it was just.

It was this moment where all obvious logic fled me.

Haha.

Why do I feel fourteen?

You ever feel like you’re still in high school sometimes?

I just came from a writer’s thing. It’s High School cliques all over again, but there are only nerds.

Is that right doctor Peek?

Yes.

But, y’know, outside that kind of shit, no, it’s not really like school.

Are you kidding?

Every job I’ve had is cliques and drama. You never escape the he said, she said, like, not like, cool, uncool, fucked up mentality that was being a teenager. Some days High School was just like this testing ground for the rest of your fucking life.

Nah.

It totally is.

I’ll give you an example. Every relationship I ever had is about fucking ownership, because that’s what that first bit of love is, you know? It’s owner-fucking-ship. It’s wanting to possess something so badly that it cannot exist without you.

It’s the desire to consume the individual.

No wonder you’re still single.

Answer your phone then.

It’s ringing again.

Fuck you.

Take a look behind us, at what Cas is doing.

If you just admit that you’re jaded and cynical and used up, life will be easier.

Are you fucking listening to me?

Yeah. Okay. Cas. Talking to his girlfriend.

On the surface, a good thing to do in a relationship.

But what lurks deep within that desire to call is to continually re-establish ties with her, to make sure she remembers who she is owned by, who is her lord and master-

See, now I know you’re fucking with me.

Fuck.

Too far with that lord and master shit, Kel.

It’s so easy to play you sometimes, bro.

Didn’t work this time.

What’s she like, anyway?

Charlie?

Yeah.

Fucked if I know. She doesn’t like me.

She sounds awesome.

Fuck you.

What’s her thing with you, anyway?

I think she’s insane.

Like, clinically, y’know?

A couple of weeks ago, she had one of her friends look me up on facebook and start talking me. Never met her, nothing like that, and the next thing I know she’s telling me that we have a lot in common, and that Charlie thinks we would make good friends.

And yet the one thing that pisses you off quicker than anything else is people thinking they know you.

How ironic.

Also, Cas said this girl had a big hideous scar over her face.

Hahaha.

Yes.

Heh.

You shouldn’t be shallow, bro.

I try not to be cause I’m pretty ugly, but disfiguring scars-

They just not my thing.

Okay, okay, tell if this true: did she really move in with Cas?

Yeah, she’s pretty keen on him, so I just keep my mouth shut about her burning hate for me. It’s not a big deal.

Well, you keep turning down her friends and you might make her push a little harder.

Her what?

Push.

Push?

You never heard of the push?

Is this another one of your insightful moments?

No, this one is real.

See, a girl, she gets to a certain point in her life, and she meets a guy, and it’s all about settling down, about starting something. Something to give life purpose. I’m not saying that guys don’t do this, because they do, but I’m a girl, and I understand the push from my side. I understand what it’s like to find a guy and think, Yeah, this is fucking going to stay, and deciding that a couple of weeks into it, of telling yourself that you’re in love, and then starting to move everything round in his life so that it’s what you want.

That’s the push. Pushing everything into place.

That’s more fucking bullshit.

No, this one-this one I’ve done twice.

Twice?

Remember Josh and Daniel?

Stoner and the Real Estate Agent.

Pushed twice.

Didn’t work out, though.

I was engaged twice, Ben.

Valid point.

…

…

Phone’s ringing again.

Learn to tune it out.

We just both jaded old cynics, aren’t we?

Yeah.

But what you going to do besides live with it?

What the fuck is that?

Cas!

You’re awake!

Fuck, sorry bout the noise man.

And this, if you must know, is a platypus.

The little bill at the front gives it away.

Where the fuck you get it from?

I have no idea. I just hope I didn’t mug a child.

Maybe it belonged to the girl you came in with?

You were awake for that?

I wasn’t asleep. I haven’t take a shit for three days. Everything inside of me has turned to stone. I touch my stomach and there’s no longer flesh there, but a cold surface that reminds me only of the toilets I will never again visit.

I no longer do normal, human things.

I think I’m becoming Post-Human.

Dude.

Dude.

I am not–I can’t have that conversation right now. I have been drinking.

I see.

So, yeah. You see how this will have to wait.

The girl was cute.

Yes!

Shame about her friends.

The contempt in their eyes was not concealed at all.

I thought it was a bit more of an over protective vibe. I got that from the guy who followed you both into the room.

I think he’s in love with her. That’s my theory.

You talk to him?

What?

No!

Fuck.

No, I talked to her. She was interesting and cute. He was just some dude so as you can clearly see, there is no basis in reality for this theory of mine.

Do you want the platypus?

Will it make me regular?

It could have strange powers I don’t know about. Perhaps God sent it here to make you take a fucking shit and stop fucking bitching about your ass.

The Shit Platypus?

Robin to your Batman, mate. Catch.

Thanks.

When did you start drinking, anyway?

‘Bout the time I went to that Australian Party.

You didn’t do shit to Strahan, did you?

No.

But, like, karma settled that anyway.

Karma?

Yes.

See, I heard this story, right. ‘Bout Strahan.

It goes like this, it goes. It goes: he’s got this fancy agent or something fucking like that, right. Big wig dude. And each time at this convention, this agent, his agent, he like has this black tie dinner for all his clients. The gold Amex card comes out and shomp shomp shomp, y’know? It’s all about business and getting in tight and all that that shit you see on TV. All you got to do for that is arrive nicely dressed.

‘Cept Strahan, he’s, like, a fucking dork, man, and he doesn’t bring is a black tie get up even though he knows about this thing, and his agent–his agent says, “Well, you can’t come to my dinner,” rather like John Wayne, I would imagine.

Was that your John Wayne impersonation?

It not good?

Say it again.

“Well you can’t come to my dinner.”

You sound Russian.

It’s note fucking perfect!

Fuck you.

Anyway!

Want to hear the end of the story?

Does he throw a tantrum?

No!

He’s just not the fuck allowed to go like he’s some fucking child, y’know?

Is that even true?

Who knows, but it makes the world even, I say.

You wussed the fuck out, didn’t you?

No way.

Dude.

This is gold.

You let some dick treat you like shit so you didn’t rock no boat, man. That’s what you did.

…

…

When I’m sober, I’m going to argue against that.

I’m sure you will.

Yeah.

…

…

…

It’s fucking hard to be in room with people who don’t like you, y’know?

It digs inside your skin, man. Makes you full of paranoid bullshit. You figure you got to be on your guard all the time and watch for some fuck who wants to put you down and who wants to score points with their friends off you. Some asshole whose balls got boosted by the numbers of mates they got round them, cause normally they wouldn’t say shit. So you watch for them so you can be crueler to them than they are to you so no one fucking assumes you going to lay down for shit opinions.

But it’s fucking crazy, that animosity. It’s so fucking personal, like they think they know you.

You only got yourself to blame for that.

Maybe.

No maybes, man.

You know how to do this shit, just like I do. You don’t talk about another’s work, you don’t point out the flaws, you don’t show them up when they’re fucking morons. What you do is have no opinions, no thoughts, unless it’s real private, and you’re sure that other person thinks the same as you..

That Consulate Party that Strahan and whoever put on is an example of you not doing that cause you didn’t want to do it. I mean, what is it, a party at some Consulate for Australian writers to stand round, drink wine and meet people who don’t give a shit bout their work, and won’t do anything for them after. Not exactly exciting, and you could’ve said, no, sorry, I don’t get in till its started, and no one would have said shit. It was true, after all. But instead, you’re like, what the fuck do I want to go to a consulate party? These people don’t invite me to parties in Australia, so why would I go to a ridiculous one in the States. Fuck ‘em!

That’s you making a situation worse.

Is true though.

Yeah, man, but they’re trying to be inclusive, and you’re just ragging on their show. That’s why half of them got the shits with you before you even show.

Pfft.

People.

I’m not saying that excuses treatment from dicks like Strahan, but you got to make a choice, man: you either going to play this shit right, or you going to do what you normally fucking do, and just live with whatever happens cause of it.

…

…

I really did wuss out, didn’t I?

You were afraid a whole bunch of people who’d buy your work would see you being an asshole and that’d fuck you over.

I got to work on that.

I’m enjoying this though.

I don’t suppose you could tell me I was right, could you? I’d like to record that.

…

…

…

Where you going?

First: Fuck you.

Second: In case you didn’t notice, the cute girl is gone, and you are a poor fucking substitute for her cause you keep pointing out my foibles. So I’m going find more drink and more girls and hopefully forget this conversation.

Enjoy the platypus, man.