Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

had when he was cornered. His gravelly voice sounded thin in the cold morning air.

I got out of the car, carrying the photocopy of the nineteen ninety-two siren draft inside a yellow folder to keep the dampness off the paper. I did not step onto his porch, staying on the gravel between our two cars, my thumb pressing against the edge continue reading …