Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

Evelyn said, her fingers gripping my wrist. “I cannot let us both go under for the sake of some old pencil lines, Mother. You are being stubborn about things that do not matter anymore.”

“My name matters,” I said.

“Your name will not pay the bank on November fifteen,” she said, her face pale as she checked her watch again. “If you do not sign this, Gerald continue reading …