Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

sitting on the edge of the sofa with my hands folded in my lap.

“We do not have time for this,” she said, stepping closer to the coffee table. “You know what the bank said.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the white envelope from the Bank of Olympia. I laid it flat on the mahogany table between us, pointing to the red stamp at the top.

“The deadline continue reading …