Pain Week at the cantina

Sometimes we encounter things that make no sense. Many of my titles for example. In this case, the title derives from the little cards or books on which this fellow is drawing. He's got a whole stack of them and they are entitled "Pain Week." Of course, I've no explanation for what the hell they are, but I'm stealing his title to use as my own. Shot on West 77th Street at from just outside my daughter's apartment building, beneath which sits the little Mexican restaurant where this fellow is seated. The restaurant has great flan, strong coffee and, I'm told but never touch the stuff myself, good margaritas. Instead of "Pain Week," I feel this guy ought to be reading "Under the Volcano" while enjoying an aguardiente or a mezcal to ward off his demons; and we can be sure, if he's reading something called "Pain Week," that he does have demons.