The ghost of Jimmy Hendrix.
Okay, I’ve never been to NYC or seen a Broadway play, but I was thinking of a scene after rain, neon reflected on wet road and maybe a playbill plastered to the ground. Sometimes there’s a little rhyme, even when there’s no reason.
Some colored ink work. A bit of the whimsical side. Why a cyborg, you must be wondering? Well, it has to do with the interface of natural and the manmade, mechanical and organic — and if you look for the two orange eyes, you can see the sky through its mouth.
I imagine after climbing until he was totally worn out, Jack rested in the beanstalk and it looked something like this. He just about went back down and would never have discovered the giant or the singing harp or the goose that layed the golden eggs.
Wont you be my Valentine!