Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

and walked out to my car.

The gravel of the overlook on Highway 101 was wet, the smell of cedar heavy in the damp afternoon air.

Evelyn was already parked there in her sedan, her engine idling as she waited.

I walked over to her passenger side and opened the door, the cold air rushing into the cabin.

“You knew about the two thousand continue reading …