Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

had carried for thirty years, the one he had used to sign the home equity loan papers at the bank.

“I want you to have this back,” he said. “And I want you to know how sorry I am.”

I looked at the silver pen, then up at his lined, tired face.

“I want my name on the drawing, Arthur, but I have no use for your regrets,” I said.

The words continue reading …