There’s a thing in literary analysis known as the “unreliable narrator”, and in case you haven’t figured it out yet: it applies to this whole damn thing here. :)

It usually refers to things like Chris Kyle (American Sniper) making up shit in his autobiography to seem more bad-ass or sympathetic, or the character of Humbert Humbert, who narrates Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, filtering everything he tells to the reader thru his perceptions.

But in comix, the artist is the narrator too, and I wanted to take advantage of that with this tale, filtering the visuals thru the drunken filter of the protagonist’s poor judgment. At least until the sober light of daybreak splashes him with cold reality. In this particular case, you can trust the writer (the dialog is accurate), but not the artist (the art is … not).

(This technique also saves me from the criticism I expect I’d get if I’d drawn the preceding sex scenes showing Brandon at his proper age.)

One thing I am trying not to do with these stories is to massage the facts to make Jason look good. I’ll massage the facts alright – and for the record, nothing in this series should be taken as fully factual – but as this tale indicates, Jason won’t necessarily come out of it looking like some kind of role model. I’m pretty sure I’m no Humbert Humbert, but I’m also not Chris Kyle’s version of Chris Kyle. I’m … something else.

NEXT: On Thursday night (EST) will be the one-pager “Road Triptych” illustrated by Zlatan Marić.

NEXT AFTER THAT: A week from now is “Track Meat” illustrated by Rick Worley.