Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

the edges from the damp air.

I watched from the porch as he lifted the table into the back of his truck, the metal tailgate closing with a sharp, heavy clang.

Frank climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key, the engine coughing twice before settling into a low, steady rumble.

I stood on the step as the red taillights disappeared continue reading …