The Wrong Order
It was too late to call my order back. It was habit, I guess -- rote memory of all of those dumb little things you love about someone when you're in a relationship with them. If you could even call N's and my connection-free coupling a relationship. I barely do.
I carried my shame sandwich in a brown paper bag back to my apartment, so intensely mad at myself for picking something I wasn't even sure that I really wanted.
I unfolded the foil and looked inside: The deli guys got the order wrong. Instead of a bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwich (crispy bacon, egg soft-scrambled), I was the proud owner of a ham-egg-and-cheese sandwich (grilled ham, egg fried).
I smiled. Even the deli guys know it's time for me to move on.