The Price of a Dollar: When Ten Years of Love Was Erased by a Takeout Box
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Summary
Today, the fried noodles from this particular food truck smelled incredibly good. I snapped a quick picture of the styrofoam container and texted it to Carter.
He didn't reply.
I sent another text: "Are you working late?"
"Should I grab you a box on my way home?"
The chat remained completely silent.
It wasn't until I had finished the very last bite that a message finally popped up on my screen.
"Could you stop sending me pointless garbage all day?"
"What a waste of money."
