Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

clicking against the silver clasp twice.

“I only have twenty minutes,” she said.

“Come up anyway,” I said.

We rode the elevator in silence, the only sound the soft hum of the motor above us.

Evelyn kept her hands deep in her coat pockets, her shoulders slightly hunched.

“The kitchen is small,” she said as we stepped into the hallway.

“It is enough,” I said.continue reading …