Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

porcelain coffee cup I had brought from my kitchen weeks ago, the one Arthur had kept in his truck. It looked out of place against the diner’s heavy tableware.

“Frank showed me the signature page, Arthur,” I said.

Arthur adjusted his glasses, his fingers shaking slightly. “I was trying to protect the house, Martha. In ninety-two, we were three months continue reading …