Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

said, his voice flat. “Nobody cares about rubber cement anymore. The industry moved on, and so should you.”

“I care,” I said. “My name was supposed to be on the registry.”

“Your name is on your pension check,” Arthur said. “And if you keep pushing Gerald, that check will stop coming.”

“Then why are you defending him now?” I asked. “What happened to the continue reading …