Eleven Years of Eating Lunch by a Window in Columbus, Ohio, Ended With a Box I Never Expected

Charles unwrapped his bologna sandwich from the wax paper and never said a single word about the sign.

He ate half.

Then he slid the rubber band up his wrist, opened the little black notebook, and wrote three lines.

“You keep on doing that,” I said.

“Times.

Rooms.

What leaves this floor, and when.”

At the other table Derek had stopped eating.