![]() Like a Velvet Glove, I tell him, gives the impression of being a kind of quest. I try to explain to the man that Clay Loudermilk goes off in search of information about the film. My waking life is more like a dream than anything I experience while asleep. He borrows a car, sets off on a road trip. Clay Loudermilk becomes intent on finding out more about the film. I am not adept at drawing facial expressions. In the fifth panel, the man waits, a look of concern or perhaps impatience on his face. ![]() The content of the film is a kind of fetishised violence. I see nothing, darkness, blackness, void, but I hear words. He watches a film called Like a Velvet Glove Cast in Iron. It has only recently occurred to me that this is strange. Clay Loudermilk enters what appears to be a pornographic cinema. ![]() The fourth and final panel shows my sad, frustrated face. I tell him: it’s Like a Velvet Glove Cast In Iron by Daniel Clowes. ![]()
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