Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

her head slowly, her chin almost touching her collar.

“They were never lost,” she said. “Arthur took them out of the flat files himself in two thousand and eleven.”

My thumb pressed hard against my index finger, checking the imaginary thickness of a heavy cover stock.

“Why would he take them then?” I asked.

“The national corporate office wanted to secure continue reading …