Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

straight to the bottom of the page, where a single blank line waited for my signature.

Beside the line, the date was already typed in dark, clean ink: October twelve, nineteen ninety-two.

“This date is wrong,” I said.

“It is an administrative correction,” Gerald said, his voice flat. “It matches the timing of the original separation agreement.”

I looked continue reading …