Eleven Years of Eating Lunch by a Window in Columbus, Ohio, Ended With a Box I Never Expected
I didn’t return it to his desk.
The next morning Charles had the notebook open before I had even peeled the lid off my container.
The left-hand column held times.
7:12, 11:40, 3:05, 4:50, in that small, square handwriting.
I recognized those numbers.
I had spent the morning sorting through the folder Derek had left behind.
One of those receipts had been stamped 3:05 in the afternoon.
“What are those times for?” I asked.
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