Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

felt its thickness, and slid it back across the linen toward his bread plate. “I have no use for sixty thousand dollars, Gerald.”

He leaned down, his voice dropping an octave. “You are trespassing, and I have two security officers waiting by the coat check who will happily assist you to the sidewalk.”

“She is my guest, Gerald,” Frank continue reading …