Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

and eleven sale,” I said before she could speak.

She checked her wristwatch, her thumb clicking against the silver band.

“Mother, that was twelve years ago,” she said, her voice fast and light. “It was tuition. It was my career.”

“It was my name,” I said.

“Your name wouldn’t have paid for my pathology books,” Evelyn said, her fingers tightening on the continue reading …