The spirit room is cold, not morgue-cold but goosebump chilly from October on. Maddie zips her hoodie and pulls the under-desk heater dangerously close to the soles of her dying Nikes. There’s a hole forming above her big, left toe and if she smells melting rubber, there will be a bigger hole in her budget. New shoes will have to get in line. The positions she had tried for, production artist, illustrator, assistant gallery curator, never materialized, and she’s stuck in the basement of the Sabine River precinct as a bottom-dwelling, part-time police sketch artist, … Continue reading The Spirit Room by Claire Massey →