Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

a corner table in the cafe on First Avenue when I arrived at one o’clock.

She checked her wristwatch as I pulled out the metal chair, her fingers tapping a rapid rhythm against her leather purse.

“You are twenty minutes late, Mother,” Evelyn said, speaking so quickly the words ran together. “And your phone was turned off.”

“I was at the agency,” I said,continue reading …