I got in the car tonight and started shivering. I thought the heat from being indoors would have carried me further. I thought the glow of cheap red wine would have lasted longer. It all seemed to evaporate as soon as I sat down on the squeaky seat. I’m so cold, I thought. So cold so cold so cold. I turned on the heat but only a cough of dust came out. Great, my life is a stupid hipster art-house comic. I looked at my hands. Who am I kidding? I need gloves.

Eventually it was warm inside and I began thinking about how thirsty I was. I looked at the floor mat. Could have sworn there was a bottle of water rolling around there yesterday. And then suddenly I realized that I didn’t care about anything but getting something to drink because the cold was taken care of, and that that was analogous for all human suffering, that when one pain is taken care of another seems so much greater.

Which is to say, in the first panel one character says to the other ‘My life sucks, I’m dying of inoperable cancer’ and in the second panel the other one answers ‘That’s terrible, have I told you about my sprained ankle?’