Elvis and Emma Lee have been feeling a little long-in-the-mouth this week. The job’s a’draggin, the head cold’s lingering, and, well, there’s a good chance that Emma Lee will get dumped tonight around 11 pm. Whether or not the ax falls (she sincerely hopes it won’t), The Days of Waiting, overlaying the Weeks of Not Breathing Through Her Nose have put her in a dour mood. Elvis illustrates the sentiment, although, much like the time when Emma Lee drew her disillusionment, the drawing—up until 3 last night drawing the tin can—helped a blue streak. Thank you, Dr. F-C, for your fabulous pencils.
After a week in Seattle and a few days of getting-back-into-things New York chores, Elvis is dipping his toes back into the icy waters of his Brooklyn freelance existence. Beside the predicted wind-chill of 0º at midnight, what awaits him in the New Year? Emma Lee knows she will be getting some big news that’s bound to shake things up, about books and graduate schools and boys, but for Elvis, a rock icon that’s had his calendar cleared for thirty-one years, just about anything could be coming his way, via Brooklyn. How does he feel about the uncertainty of the new year? He smiles at Emma Lee and says: Bring it.
