Three Bags of Cashews and a Dishonest Sister In Law at the Wedding

the copy of the trademark application that Arthur had printed for me. Under the official seal of the state of Ohio, my own name was written in a hand that was almost mine, but not quite. The loops of the letters were too perfect, too steady, like someone had traced them on a light table while I was home baking bread.

I stared at my own forged signature continue reading …