Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

the metal ticking against her sleeve.

“I have to go to the clinic,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“Are you going to be alright here?” she asked.

“I have the water to look at,” I said.

“I will call you on Friday,” she said.

“Only if you have the time,” I said.

She stopped at the door, her hand on the brass knob.

“I have the time now,” she said.

After she left,continue reading …