Eleven Years of Eating Lunch by a Window in Columbus, Ohio, Ended With a Box I Never Expected
The cup had still been half full.
He had tipped it once to check.
I didn’t ask about it.
“It isn’t a bad sandwich,” I said.
“No,” Charles said.
“It isn’t.” He pushed a napkin across the table.
“For the mustard.”
I laughed, just one time.
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