Imagine stumbling home to your trailer park late one night, after you’ve had seven too many bourbon and cokes at the skeezy pool hall down the street. Upon throwing your keys on the kitchen/living room table, you’re assailed from out of the shadows. A woman, appealing enough save for her yellow, jagged teeth and that mole on her cheek spewing out thick black hairs, has wrestled you to the ground. She’s simultaneously dry-humping you while trying to strangle you with a rusty bent wire hanger. As your consciousness fades you realize you’ve just fallen in love.

That’s how it felt reading Rafael Grampa’s debut mini-epic MESMO DELIVERY. Bloody, violent, filthy and beautiful, this is the kind of story Quentin Tarantino wants to tell you when he’s not feeling sheepish. A retired boxer agrees to drive a delivery truck across the country, with the caveat that he never learns the nature of his cargo. He and his partner take a wrong turn into the wrong truck stop, and a fever dream of chaos and bloodshed erupts. Rafael Grampa is the artistic find of the decade, channeling Geof Darrow, Paul Pope and Frank Quitely all at once — who’d have thought that was even possible? This one’s a total keeper.