Tazmanian Devil

If I could draw a picture of JBL leaving for work in the morning, well. It would not just be one picture. It would be a stack of pictures that you flip through to mimic a movie. In each picture he would be a grinding, swirling ball of frustration, kicking off stars and dirt as he first flies down the stairs, then stomps into the kitchen to put his shoes on, storms down to his basement office for God-knows-what, thundering back - finally - through the kitchen (cussing all the while) to collect his things.

Near the end, a picture will show him standing abruptly still as he realizes he cannot leave the house without that one critical, last-minute item. The cloud of dust around him settles briefly as his eyes - still wild - scan the room desperately. Is he searching for me? Heck no. He needs that one last gulp of water (because the water bottle waiting in his car just isn't the same). Flip-flip-flip the motion begins again and he fairly lunges across the room, cursing the gods because that cup is further away than it has any right to be, swigs down an enormous mouthful of water with a huge groan and sigh, and turns to leave.

The door to the garage is yanked open and wavy lines would indicate the blast of cold air rolling into the kitchen, muting his depressed farewell that usually goes something like, "I have no idea when I'll be home," or "I'll call you but I can't tell you when that will be..." The last pictures will show the closed door having just slammed behind him, clouds puffing out from the corners, followed by a faded depiction of the quiet left behind.