Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

that would stand for thirty years.”

I stood up from table twelve, holding the manila envelope in both hands against my ribs.

“Martha, don’t,” Arthur muttered, his hand reaching out to catch my sleeve, but his fingers slipped off the polyester fabric of my jacket.

I walked down the center aisle between the round tables, the heavy soles of my shoes clicking continue reading …