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“Have it say, ‘To a fellow writer.'”
That’s what I said to Harvey Pekar as his black Sharpie hovered over a shiny American Splendor poster in 2003.
He sat in an unbalanced plastic folding chair, his plaid belly smashed against the card table, his hair a dry mess of brown grass, the bags under his eyes so heavy they would have required an extra $25 each to be loaded onto a United Airlines plane.
