Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

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My name was written in blue ink on the final line.

The loops of the letters were too wide, and the cross on the letter t was slanted backward, a habit I had never had in all my years of drafting.

That signature has the right letters, but the hand that held the pen was not mine.

I stood under the kitchen light, staring at the forged name.

By ten o’clock continue reading …