Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

Frank’s pickup truck was already idling in my driveway, its yellow headlights cutting through the mist. Frank got out of the cab, his heavy work gloves tucked into his belt as he walked up the porch steps.

“I have the tools to take the legs off the table, Martha,” Frank said, his voice quiet in the cool night air.

I opened the front door and led him continue reading …