Eleven Years of Eating Lunch by a Window in Columbus, Ohio, Ended With a Box I Never Expected
Megan’s chair scraped across the floor.
She didn’t smooth her cardigan that time.
I flipped three pages at once so both ends of the table could see the columns, dates in Charles’s square handwriting down the left side, claim numbers down the right.
“Every altered claim in six years has a shredded receipt behind it.
Every receipt went into a bag that Charles carried to the loading dock.
He wrote down the time.