Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

cyclamen on the window sill, adjusting the pot until the leaf-pattern faced the room.

“The motel was fine,” I said.

“I was worried,” Evelyn said, her back still to me.

“You did not need to be,” I said.

“I called the agency yesterday,” she said.

I sat down on one of the folding chairs by the glass door.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

“I wanted to make sure continue reading …