Jared looks pleased…

Although someone ought to tell him that his hat and shirt don’t match… so close but no cigar! But there he is, one arm akimbo, one placing the hat on his pony-tailed noggin… Jeff is resplendent in his black raw wool turtleneck sweater.  Note the woven fisherman’s creel in the foreground of panel three… those don’t come cheap, along with the rod case he holds in his left hand… no wonder they only have enough money left to afford a bare lightbulb for ambiance…

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And as we get a lesson in how to fool fish into thinking that there is something edible hiding the hook and line, Cherry has pulled out a Camelot-era pillbox hat, pink to match her sweater, and looks on with… I don’t know… Admiration? Disgust? Ennui?  I think she continues to up her medication as she evaluates the dumpster fire that has become her life.  She has managed to ditch Rusty, but now she is stuck with her old man and this asexual, unfeeling, meat sack called Mark Trail…