Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

of the folder as if I could measure the weight of the old vellum by touch.

“Look at the left eye on the draft, Arthur,” I said, holding the page out toward him. “It sits three points lower than the right, exactly like my father’s portrait of me. You knew he drew me that way.”

Arthur adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his gaze shifting to the gray sky continue reading …