Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

we are having this conversation.”

“I am not looking for charity, Arthur,” I said. “I am looking for my signature.”

“Your signature is on the contract,” Arthur said, his voice gravelly. “We all signed it.”

“Not my hand,” I said.

Gerald took a step toward us, his boots clicking on the damp stone of the path. “Let us go back inside. The wind is coming up continue reading …