by Jon Novoselac

Another blast from the past. I completed this sketch when I was 17. It comes complete with a silly little story.

One weekend, Mum and Dad went out for the afternoon, and I was left to my own devices. So I sat in the kitchen, drawing away. It was probably cold, in the middle of winter in Wisconsin, at a chilly northern latitude of 44 degrees-or-so.

Like most young men, I was curious about alcohol. And fly fishing was so very sophisticated, wasn’t it?

I poured myself a glass of scotch, over a couple of carefully placed ice-cubes. The ice crackled, and I took a sip. Much to my disappointment, it tasted nothing like it should have. It was more like fire. Rocket-fuel. How could anyone like this stuff?

So much for the sophisticated, fly fishing image I was so keen to portray as a 17 year old.

Whatever. I let it sit there as I kept drawing. It looked too good to throw away. Maybe I should have consumed it. It might have improved the drawing. A bit of colour wouldn’t go astray, would it? It certainly would have made for an even more entertaining story when Mum and Dad came home.