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

“I wanted to.

The clerk asked if I was buying for a grandkid.” He slid it toward me.

“I told her I was buying for a stubborn auditor.”

I laughed, and it came out louder than I meant it to.

The two women at the microwave turned around.

Charles opened his notebook, wrote three lines slowly and carefully, then shut it again.

“Eat,” he said.

“Sprinkles don’t last.”