Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

them quickly, his fingers brushing the bridge of his nose.

“Helen has been confused for some time,” he said, his gravelly voice dropping even lower.

I took the folded photocopy from my pocket and laid it flat on the table between us.

The black ink of his signature sat directly under the high light of the window.

Arthur looked at the paper continue reading …