Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

should,” I said, looking toward the back of the room where the service exit door was gently swinging shut.

Gerald sat in silence as the banquet hall clears.

By ten o’clock the next morning, Frank had three folders spread across his pine desk. The office smelled of damp cedar from the open window that looked down onto the quiet street of Olympia.

Frank continue reading …