Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

table, the small roll of lead making a quiet clicking sound against the wood. “But we need a leverage point before we file anything formal.”

“Gerald will never admit he kept my sketches,” I said.

“We do not need him to admit it,” Frank said, looking toward the window where the morning light was beginning to fade. “We just need to make him realize that continue reading …