Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

now.

“Is she back there?” I asked Frank, looking toward the dark corridor near the kitchen doors.

“Evelyn is standing near the service exit,” Frank said, pulling out the chair on my other side and sitting down. “She has been watching you since the soup course.”

“And the envelope?” I asked, touching the manila folder on my lap. “The one that arrived at continue reading …