from The Awl:
Dear Nick,
I’m sorry I ate your carrot cake.
We were at college, and living off campus in the house on Bragaw Street. You had bought the cake earlier that day, when we’d all gone to Super Stop n’ Shop for groceries. You’d paid for it separately and left it in the fridge while you went to an afternoon class. But our roommate Scott and I didn’t have afternoon classes that day. Or if we did, we decided to skip them and stay home and smoke pot instead. Whatever the case, we stayed home while you were out and smoked pot. I got hungry, on account of the pot smoking, and went to the fridge, where I found the piece of carrot cake wrapped in cellophane. I knew it was yours. I knew you were saving it to eat later. I don’t even like carrot cake that much. Still, it looked good, with that thick layer of cream-cheese frosting on top, and self-discipline was not a strong suit of mine. I decided to have just one little piece. Then I ate the whole thing. It was delicious.
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