Fourteen Years and a Single Ledger from the Autumn Election

“They will have them by next week,” I said.

At five o’clock, I met Martha at the quiet diner near Union Station.

The booth was small, and the laminate table smelled faintly of lemon soap.

Martha sat with her coat still draped over her shoulders, her teacup steaming between her hands.

“I heard Peter called a partner meeting,” Martha said,continue reading …