Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

too stiff to hold the drafting pen.

“She knew,” I said, the realization settling into the small space between us.

“She was twenty-four,” Arthur said. “She was desperate to start her life.”

“She knew where the money came from,” I said.

Arthur did not answer, his eyes fixed on the gray highway outside the window.

I stood up, leaving the photocopy on the table,continue reading …