Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

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I stood up and walked toward the glass doors of the lobby, my shoes silent on the green carpet.

Evelyn was waiting near the drinking fountain, her coat still zipped to her chin. She was checking her wristwatch, her thumb clicking against the silver band.

“Greg told you the numbers,” she said, speaking before I could reach her.

“He said twelve continue reading …