Vertigo exists. It doesn't exist

Somewhere in time, I'm sitting on my bed in that fucking cold house on Richard Pearse Drive, staring at these two ads in glorious black and white in the issue of Comics Value Monthly that suddenly showed up at Baird's Bookshop, and I don't have the internet or anything, all I have is these two ads and I'd only read a single issue of Sandman at this stage and not sure how it works, but I'm 17 years old and I want it so, so bad, and I get on the Vertigo bus for the next decade or so and while it doesn't exist anymore, that moment of possibility in time, on that bed, in that cold room, is fucking eternal.