Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

the small balcony instead, the glass door sliding open with a smooth, silent glide that felt entirely foreign.

Below, the harbor was grey and wide, the tide moving out over the brown mudflats of the bay.

The wind carried the smell of salt and wet cedar from the lumber yard down on the point.

A white delivery van was idling by the curb, its exhaust rising continue reading …