On a beanbag in the rumpus room is where you’ll find Max. He is alone but that’s ok because he likes to concentrate. Max loves manga. He loves the stillness of each image, the minimal movement on any shot. The lips, their big eyes, someone’s hair blowing in the breeze while everything else occupies space so solidly. He loves how little the camera moves, the slow way the characters blink, the quiet of it all. Sometimes he watches it with the sound off, admires the grandeur of the dark grey smoke billowing out of a valley that owes something to Cezanne in its look and feel. Not that he knows that, but it does. The smoke rises and Max is still, watching the hero stalking a giant beast, part reptile part machine. The hero has big eyes and clear skin and a passionate desire to right wrongs. He wears a hat with ear flaps and he is afraid of nothing. Max pulls his beanie more tightly onto his head even though its 24 degrees. The wool makes his ears itch but that’s not important. Not in the scheme of things.


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