Toby, bleared eyed as usual, made coffee in the kitchen of his small, one-bedroomed apartment in downtown New York. He could already hear the hustle on the street below – his windows open wide due to the summer heat. Toby, despite his lack of income, and subsequent inability to afford to run the air conditioning, was a coffee snob. An expensive bean-to-cup machine sat on the counter, and barista-quality oat milk was always on hand.

From the window of his open-plan living space, he looked down, cup in hand, and sighed.

“Another day, yet not another dollar”, he mumbled to himself before taking a sip from his favourite two-toned black and cream coloured mug. Toby hadn’t slept much again last night. Tossing and turning, worrying about money, his career – or lack of one – and making rent again in three week’s time. He had only just managed to scrape together this month’s rent, and now he was worried about having to do it all over again.

“Fuck you”, shouted a middle-aged man from down below. Toby could see him stood outside of his car, the door open, and waving a fist. Perhaps he had just been cut-up, Toby thought, taking another sip. The steam rose from the mug and clouded Toby’s glasses. He didn’t bother to wipe them, as it would clear soon enough.

Toby perched himself on the windowsill so that he could relax and observe more. Cars honking, men and women shouting and jeering at each other. Pedestrians rushing in large groups across crossings – many children included, likely on their way to school. Toby had hated school. He found most of the subjects boring, all except art class. In art, he excelled. He displayed exhibitions in his senior year, and his teachers all pushed him to go on to college.

“No, fuck you”, shouted another man from the car in front of the middle-aged man. Toby watched as a younger guy jumped out of the front seat and rushed over to the first man, who Toby could see was going bald on top. He had a perfect bird’s-eye view, and he was fixed to his spot, waiting to see what would happen next.

“You cut me up, you little jerk”, shouted the older man.

“No, I fucking didn’t old man. You, should look well you’re damn well going”. With that, the younger man pushes the older man backwards – two hands to his shoulders send him a few feet toward the back of his car. Toby stands up. This could get out of hand. Should he call the police?

Larry, as Toby has now named the older man in his head, seems startled. Harry, also named by Toby, is now face-to-face with Larry. He’s saying something, but it’s way too quiet for Toby to hear. Larry isn’t moving. He seems scared, even though Toby can’t see his face. The younger guy, Harry, is intimidating, and now there are bystanders watching from the sidewalk.

Within seconds, Harry strikes Larry in the gut – a short uppercut kind of punch that causes Larry to double over. Harry steps backward and then turns, runs to his car, and Toby hears the screech of the tyres as he takes off down the street. He watches more drama unfold as people come rushing to Larry’s aid. Why couldn’t they have done something sooner?

Toby sees another man lay Larry down on the floor. A woman places something under his head. They both then take it turns performing CPR. “Oh shit”, Toby says out loud. Toby quickly puts his coffee down on the small table next to the window, runs across to his desk and picks up a pencil and sketchpad.

He draws quickly, aiming to capture every detail. The man who assaulted Larry, the car he took off in, and then the medical emergency that is now unfolding. There are several scenes by the time Toby is done. He’s captured the chain of events perfectly and now he sits again on the ledge, waiting to find out if Larry survives.

With both police and ambulance crews on the scene, Toby wonders if he should share what information he has. He also considers that there were plenty of other people around who will have seen the same thing he did. Toby watches as Larry’s body is rolled onto a gurney and then lifted into the ambulance on a bed. The crew is still working on him as the rear doors close and the wagon pulls away. With lights flashing and siren blazing, Toby feels somewhat helpless.

Cops begin taking statements from anyone still hanging around and Toby walks back over to his workstation – a simple table and chair with a laptop, drawing pad, and dual-screen monitor set up. He lays his sketchpad down on the table, and scans in each scene using his phone, then imports the images into the digital drawing programme he uses.

Toby plays with the images, colouring them in, trying to ensure accuracy, as best as his memory will allow. He zooms in and out, fills in more of the detail, and adds speech bubbles. “Fuck off”, “No fuck you”. Toby laughs as he recalls the shouting match, but then remembers how it all went horribly wrong, and now Larry is fighting for his life somewhere.

Another coffee is in order. Toby grinds the beans – pure Colombian from a sustainable and ethical growing partner. ‘Bean Time’ is Toby’s favourite brand, but he knows he should probably find a decaf option as the copious amounts of caffeine he consumes every day probably isn’t helping his sleep pattern. Wired and working into the early hours and then unsettled for the rest of the night until, Toby finally gives in and gets up.

He’s finally done, a couple more coffees in. Toby has added a couple of scenes, one depicting Harry cutting across lanes to position himself in front of Larry. How else would he have ended up there? Another scene from inside the ambulance, and another in the ER, with doctors fighting to save Larry’s life. There’s no outcome though. Toby doesn’t know how the story ends. Should he call the local Emergency Rooms to try and find out? He’s not family though. They won’t tell him anything.

Toby sits, staring at his screen. He’s really pleased with his work. “Ok, now what?”, he says to the images staring back at him. A blog. A real-life, in the moment blog. A wave of excitement rushes over Toby. “Yes!”, he shouts. Toby has blogged a little bit here and there, but nothing to write home about. He’s also posted a lot of his artwork online and hosts a gallery on his website in the hope that he’ll catch someone’s eye.

Toby hasn’t felt this inspired in months. He creates a new web page, uploads the images and designs a comic book panel, so that it all makes sense and readers can follow the story. The dialogue is limited, but the images convey the seriousness of the situation that unfolded this morning. Toby finalises the details on the page, with a brief caption about what took place, and where, and then saves the new web page. He shares a link across his various social media platforms and tags several news outlets, as well as the local police department.

Within a couple of hours, Toby receives a number of enquiries. Included, is one from the NYPD asking if he’d be available to draw crime scenes and suspect images – they like his attention to detail and accuracy. Another is from the NY Times, asking if he’d like a daily section for his comic strip – depictions of real-life drama. “Holy shit!” – Toby jumps up from his desk and runs around his living-come-office space.

“Holy shit. I need to say yes”. Accepting the offers was easy. Regular paid work, and something that would increase his profile significantly, not only in New York but potentially further afield. The NY Times wanted to feature the sketches of today’s assault, and they were sending a journalist to follow up on Larry, or, Mr. David Lynch, as they’ve since discovered.

Toby was ecstatic and didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He knew he’d be able to make rent; that’s for sure, along with another bag of Bean Time coffee.  He also knew that he wouldn’t have to go skulking back to his parents looking for a handout and a place to stay – this starving artist was just getting started!

Words: 1,415 – whoops!

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