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The dialogue is full of ideas and questions, and is quite challenging. Much of the story follows Chris, the clone of Christ, but not too far away is his bodyguard, Thomas McKael. He grew up in Northern Ireland, and for a long time was a member of the I. Check out our review here! Here he works in black and white with detailed, powerful two-page spreads and vistas, unmatched by anyone else.

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This world is inhabited by angular, scratchy characters. Every panel has work behind it, and yet flows so effortlessly, the energetic art almost jumps off the page. The story offers an in-depth look at corporate America. The collection is 6 issues long, and I read it through in one sitting. Your email address will not be published. March 26, February 12, February 11, October 25, September 6, August 24, He walked into the Cleator Bar and asked the woman inside, Carolyn Ripley, if he could do some work. He remembered that the woman's boyfriend laughed at his question.

Work here? You should just buy the place, the man said. The bar, which is still owned by descendants of the Cleator family, was not for sale. But the liquor license, which was held by Ripley, was. Summer burned on, and the monsoon rippled through the grama grass and built thunderheads over the saguaros on the hills. One night, when there was too much thunder to fall asleep, he stayed up reading "Doctor Zhivago.

Past floods had left their mark on the creek banks. But Dave's camp was up on the bench, and at first he didn't think he had much to worry about. When the creek rose to his truck tires, he knew he was done. He slashed the bungee cords over the camper, put the truck in gear and gunned it. At home, he saw some friends. He talked to his parents and mentioned the ice, the job and the Cleator Bar. He stayed for a week.

Then he went back to clean up what was left of his camp.

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A few months later, Dave's father owned the liquor license, and Dave was tending the only bar in Cleator — population: 5. The Cleator Bar was once owned by James Cleator, a prospector, rancher and local entrepreneur who reportedly went to sea at the age of 12 and later made his way to Arizona. In , Cleator made a deal with his business partner that left him owner of the town of Turkey Creek. He ran the town's bar, general store and post office, and eventually renamed the town after himself.


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Dave said he once saw a picture of the general store with a steam train, a horse and a Ford Model T all within the frame. Eventually, the mines played out, Crown King became a vacation spot and Cleator was a stop along the way.


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The town is still owned by descendents of the Cleator family, who want the property preserved as a ghost town, which is fine with the people who live there. Tenants are allowed to do what is necessary to keep the buildings standing, and to remodel the inside, but that's all. The weathered buildings make the town look rougher than it is — most people drive by without even stopping, and the bar can be pretty empty on a weekday. But some do stop.

The Phoenix Murphy Story Series

The first five years he had the bar, Dave put up a sign that told customers to turn their cellphones off. He continued to lose weight, though not at the rate he had lost that summer in camp. Many came to know him as Big Dave. On a slow August afternoon, Dave sat on the porch at the bar. Storm clouds stacked against the mountains and a local ranch hand sat and drank a beer.

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There were flashes of lightning as Dave rolled cigarettes and smoked as he talked. The front porch was littered with rusty gears pulled out of some big machine, an old gas pump, a fan.

Bar stools were patched with duct tape. The storm clouds built, sounds from the TV tumbled out of the bar and an evaporative cooler hummed. Soon rain pounded the porch roof. Late in the day, the ranch hand had raced off to his bunkhouse to cook supper, and when he returned he put a steak on the table — rare. Dave ate with his fingers on the porch until the rain came down harder and they went inside.

The Cleator Bar and General Store are a patchwork of wood, concrete and corrugated metal. On the left is a bar, a dim room of old license plates, photos, beer signs and dollar bills signed by patrons. A cowboy hat hangs on a wagon wheel. Out front, wooden steps lead to the general store, which had not been open for decades when Dave started managing the bar. One day, not long after Dave had started, a troop of Girl Scouts from Mayer came in hopes of selling cookies. One of the scout leaders, a woman named Darlene, led them into the bar and watched as they made their pitch for the sugary treats.

A few months after the Girl Scouts' visit, Dave went to nearby Spring Valley and walked into a convenience store to place an order. There, working in the store, was Darlene. They talked. He was friendlier this time, and later, he called her. One day he invited her out to Cleator for his birthday. He was a perfect gentleman, she recalled. She started coming out to visit. She worked long hours and he would fix her dinner after a hard day.

One day he happened to be carrying a gun in his pocket, she remembered. It wasn't even his gun. It needed some work and he was just going to fix it for a friend, but it tumbled out of his pocket and shot him in the foot. I never left.


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The house was a little rough — the bathroom had a floor, but was partially exposed. One day Dave shot a rattlesnake and put a hole in the floor. Darlene got some linoleum tiles to repair the hole and kept going into the kitchen. By the time she was done, the house had an indoor bathroom and a kitchen with a dishwasher. They were married in right in front of the Cleator store. Dave's father gave the place a facelift and repainted the sign, and the doors were opened for the first time in about 35 years. Darlene's daughter from a previous marriage held a shotgun with flowers coming out of the chamber.

Dave wore a tux and Darlene wore a white dress. The two said their vows on the wooden steps. In front of them, the whole wedding party assembled. Dave's father officiated. They celebrated with cake and a champagne toast. The following Easter, Dave had a stroke. He recovered but sometimes slurred his words, even years later. They lived in the old schoolteacher's house, across from the old school.

They built a chicken coop around the old camper shell from Dave's time at the creek.