Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

The damp smell of cedar clung to my coat as I drove through the gray mist of the Puget Sound basin, watching the dark trees blur past the window. By one o’clock, the gravel of Gerald’s long private driveway was crunching under my tires, the white columns of his brick estate standing tall against the dark Douglas firs.

Gerald opened continue reading …