Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

my coat pocket.

“What did he do with it?” I asked, looking at the faded floral wallpaper behind her bed.

“Go ask him,” Helen said. “He is still sitting at the corner table at the diner on Highway 101, waiting for you to sign those papers.”

The drive back toward Olympia was seventy miles of gray asphalt under low clouds.

The highway diner was half empty continue reading …