Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

offset margin that bled precisely to the edge of the sheet. It was a quality piece of design.

“And Arthur?” I asked.

“He signed his portion of the waiver an hour ago,” Frank said. “He is leaving for Seattle tonight.”

I picked up a pen from the desk. My hand did not shake. For the first time in thirty years, I was not checking the thickness of the paper continue reading …