Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

said, turning back toward the door.

He left the kitchen as the rain began to fall.

Gerald did not offer me a seat when his assistant ushered me into the corner office at eleven the next morning.

The room smelled of polished mahogany and the dry scent of cedar flat-files.

Gerald stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Elliot continue reading …