Six Sisters and the Blue Ledger on Oak Street

grey wool coat.

Gene sat to my right, her fingers quietly rolling her green unlit pencil back and forth over her yellow notepad.

Harriet sat beside her, already adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses as she stared at the empty space between us.

The room smelled of old paper and lemon furniture polish, a sharp contrast to the damp autumn air that clung to our continue reading …