Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

exactly to the right, just as I had done in the old house.

“Did he leave a address?” I asked.

“A post office box in Ballard,” Clara said, passing me the second cup.

The blue porcelain felt cool against my palm, holding the chill of the morning air from the back of Arthur’s station wagon.

“He sold the car too,” Clara said.

I stopped with continue reading …