Mike Green

Frankly Speaking

Chapter 1 Thursdays are slow enough that I work alone. Often, the only face I see for hours is Frank’s. For the last four years or so, this man – now in his late seventies, I think – has come in around noon on Thursday with his coffee and his little black book to buy half a dozen comics (Batman is his favorite) and sit. Like Indy’s dad in The Last Crusade, he gently brushes the pages with the tip of a Ticonderoga, which I’m sometimes surprised he can hold steadily. Frank, the sketching septuagenarian. I love that. I am fascinated by Frank.