"James Jupiter stands half-nude in a chilly studio, somewhere in filthy downtown."
And he was as my words were. On paper and in reality too.
"He has his back turned to a timid cartoonist." I continued, etching the lines of lightning that grew from his spine and shoulders. "And no one knows what's going on within Mr. Jupiter's mind; and it's always like that. And it'll always be like that." More electricity as I penciled out delineation.
"I don't mean to be so distant," a voice in baritone explains. With viva voce comes thunder; his body was a storm. "I can't help but. It's in my nature, don't you think?" he asked.
"What is nature with you, Mr. Jupiter?" was my reply.
