The saddest fucking comic book you will ever read in your goddam life. Except for that part where the hero experiences a subtle, ambiguous redempt -- oh, nevermind, he flubbed it. It's an unadulterated, brutally mundane depiction of two horridly mediocre, sad, sad, motherfucking unbelievably sad lives in Chicago. One in the present day, the other in the year of the Chicago World's Fair, 1893. It's a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, alright. Just thinking about it makes me give up all ambition to describe its details, which Ware renders with compulsive, beautiful, deranged precision. Instead I'll just go fucking kill myself from the hopelessness of it all. It's a masterpiece. Oh god.