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

“My birthday isn’t until next week,” I said.

“For some things, early is on time.”

Inside was a twenty-dollar bill, crisp enough to crackle when I opened it, and a small brass key.

The key was shorter than my pinky finger, with a round head and a number stamped into the metal.

114.

I turned it over.

“What does it open?”

Charles fiddled with the rubber band on his notebook.