Ed Brubaker, now a writer for mainstream comics like Batman and Daredevil, started out writing and drawing this series of autobiographical comics in the early 90s.
Raw and honest, the stories have an almost confessional tone, the artist showing himself at his most vulnerable, his lowest. From petty theft to drug use to girl problems, the life of Brubaker's alter ego Tommy--his Henry Chinaski, you might say--is kind of pathetic, right down to the maggots in the trash can: "The crackling sound was their crawling on the plastic...my stomach turned...I hope James takes out that trash soon."
And yet, he looks on those days with fondness and nostalgia. In the last story, an older Tommy comes across a box of Lowlife comics (a bit of postmodernism for you): "The characters in it reminded him of his old friends and lovers, all so far away...lost in time. He thought of his days with them all, days when they hadn't realized how happy they really were." Though Tommy's fate is a little less auspicious than Brubaker's, I imagine the sentiment is the same.