Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

when I walked in.

“I need these enlarged,” I said, sliding the hand-drawn sketches out of the manila envelope and laying them on the counter.

Paul looked down at the first draft, his fingers tracing the edge of the blue pencil lines that ran beneath the black ink.

“This is old work,” he said. “The ink is beginning to bleed into the fiber.”

“It is nineteen continue reading …