Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

In Seattle, or even back in Olympia. We could start over.”

“There is no starting over, Arthur,” I said. “You sold my work to pay Evelyn’s tuition, and you lied to me for twelve years. We are finished.”

He reached for the silver pen, but his hand stopped mid-air. “Where will you go?”

“I will find an apartment,” I said. “By myself.”

I left continue reading …