Kirk called him to let him know that he was shutting down the website, effective immediately. It wasn’t a decision that came easily, but advertising had never really picked up the way he’d expected, and the site was one big time sink for him.
However, he had a friend who was looking for original content for his own website, and he’d already expressed interest in Rusty amp; Pugg.
Toby was fine with the switch. One month in, he was told that the hit count for the strip’s new home was “through the roof,” though the actual number meant nothing to him.
Still no check, but he didn’t care.
His hands hurt, all the time, and he didn’t care.
He could feel that something was wrong inside of him, but he didn’t go to the doctor. He knew what it was. They’d give him chemotherapy or radiation treatment and he’d be too sick to draw. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had an audience to make happy. A faceless audience, but still an audience.
He introduced a hairy monster into the cast, and apparently it was a big hit with readers, especially when it ate a couple of bullies named Larry and Nick.
A car pulled up in front of his house after dark.
Toby cursed. He was soaking his hands in warm water to ease the pain, and didn’t feel like being bothered so that some inconsiderate jerk could ask him if he believed that he would be ascending to the kingdom of heaven.
He looked through the peephole, and then opened the door. A twenty-two-year-old boy stood there and gave him a nervous smile.
“Hi, Dad.”