Sing, O Muse, of the quest for comics I undertook last Saturday.

The North (you may remember) proved inhospitable, and did not contain the object of my quest (a well-stocked, well-lit, nice-smelling comic book store). So with hope as my banner I sallied toward the South.

“Lo,” I said, “tho’ the day is not bright, still my dreams of the latest House of Mystery and maybe a collected Hellblazer do shine before me like the sun.”

Long I traveled to the south, whereunto Mapquest directed me, and I did come upon a comics store. And behold, this comics store was actually in someone’s basement. Girded with caution I entered.

And lo, this cave was not filled with treasures.

“Hath no trade paperbacks?” I inquired of the hermit that dwelt within.

“Only the ones on the wall,” he said. “I mostly sell Magic cards.”

“Whither the regular issues?” I asked.

He gestured to a rack of comics so scant in its offerings that my heart did sink within my chest for disappointment.

“Oh, well, give me this issue of Deadpool then,” saith I, and (having taken his recommendation for another comics shop fifteen minutes down the road) left, still bearing hope as my crest and shield.

“Surely this next shop will be a goodly one,” I thought, “for lo, it has been recommended by the hermit, and did also show up on the comics shop locator at FCBD.”

And I did journey to the second comic shop. But lo, the city wherein it dwelt offered this day a tournament, like unto football (exactly like unto football, actually), and the streets did teem with persons, and the roads grew slow as sweet-treacle, and there was not any parking anywhere.

Sodde this,” saith I. “I am going to get lunch.”

So did I leave the town to its tournament, and did leave the highway at the crossroads which bore a sign that said LONG JOHN SILVERS, and read my issue of Deadpool whilst in the drive-thru lane, and sighed and grumbled.

And lo, as I was pulling out with two chicken planks and a side of fries, I did look about, and beheld a miracle: for though I had come here for fried food, in this place also stood a Barnes & Noble, like unto a fortress, with many a spot to park and also a cafe.

“Hot dog!” quoth I. “I bet there are some graphic novels in there.”

So it was that I entered the fortress and emerged with Kingdom Come, an omnibus of old Solomon Kane, and Fables v12, which I have already finished.

And it was very good.

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