Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

reached for a saltine cracker, snapping it cleanly in half. “Then Arthur’s retirement disappears, and he likely spends his remaining years in a courtroom.”

I stood up from the chair, the photocopy of the forged contract still in my hand. “I need to speak to him first.”

“He is waiting for you at the diner on Highway 101,” Frank said.

The highway diner continue reading …