Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

Clara was gone when we entered the apartment, leaving a neat pile of folded newspaper on the counter and the kettle sitting beside the stove.

Evelyn walked straight to the balcony door, her boots clicking softly on the new linoleum.

“You can see the water,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“It is better than the motel,” she said.

I set the pink continue reading …