The action starts on the first page: Vincent Raswell, our protagonist, gives a brief account of his three friends, hyped-up and self-concerned fellows who Vincent no longer feels compatible with. So he leaves them. We jump into the car with a new Vincent, relieved of the burdens of fakery and meaninglessness.
Raswell has taken to a wanderer's life; he's homeless, without a future, without a job; his only concern is a constant investigation into the truth around him. Vincent probes into everyone's and anyone's life: a retail clerk, a pizza store patron, a homeless kid at a bus stop; all are studies for Vincent and his quest to grab at deeper meanings.
Invisible Sentence is no holds barred self-expression. It sings a singular song about Los Angeles, about his day and age, and about this Generation's view of it. Raswell isn't judging one race as opposed to another; instead he serves us all up black, white, rich, poor and simply says: Look at us. He peels back the veneer and invites us all to look at ourselves, to much amusement and much horror.
