There's nothing I hate more than going to buy clothes, nothing. But it is important that a cartoonist dressed properly. It's a real problem in the trade. I do not know if you saw the pictures of the Awards of Angouleme, but it's more like the queue for the soup kitchen at the Oscars. It is a rendezvous of old felted wool sweaters and scarves. While seeing the beautiful Gobi shirt yesterday, I told myself it was time to redo my wardrobe. But where to go? I did anyway not go to GAP or something like that? So I was in a military surplus, where every man in the masculine self-respecting everything that it needs for its survival. In the window, there was heavy machine guns, swords, samurai and camouflaged pants. Inside is even better, a big seller taciturn that growls, a cop who seeks the same knife that Rambo and a funny guy who buys a gas mask. In short, this is the place for a cartoonist. There are enough funny stuff in there, in fact, the survival rations, bulletproof vests-that is Los Angeles, we always risk a stray bullet- where large nets with fake leaves to camouflage your helicopter. I found and bought some nice shirts gas station attendants. Because we must see things in front, today the attendants have more class than the cartoonists. The thing that convinced me that I was in the right place is that the guy passed me what I bought in a large black trash bag. If that's not the turbo class, I know nothing.
0 comments:
Post a Comment