Where's our prince charming
Mersh at the bar of his own strip club while the dancers talk over each other about their plans — a real estate licence, a crypto tip from a plug, focusing on the career — and then wonder aloud where their prince charming is. He answers the question to himself in the last panel, making a sandwich at home with a cat watching: none of them know how to shut up and make one.
Six panels, the top row crowded with figures pressing toward the reader and the bottom row opening out. The strip empties as it goes — three women, then two, then Mersh alone in a kitchen — so the punchline lands in the silence rather than in a balloon.
Acid green and turquoise through the club against hot pink and magenta in the curtains, resolving into warm ochre and olive in the final kitchen panel.
Loose ink contour with washes dropped in wet so the colours bleed between figures. The club panels are deliberately over-saturated and the kitchen is left pale, which does the work of changing scene.
Watercolour and ink on paper.
Signed rayrayisHAPPY in small script at the lower right of the last panel.
Mersh runs a strip club.