I looked over at the house. It was a modest two-story house with a well-kept lawn and large bushes at each side of the steps leading to the doorway. There was no white picket-fence, just a nice little trail leading to the front door.
Joseph was still complaining about the sandwich that got away — the one that I had tossed into the waste basket. He stopped the car and parked on the side of the street.
“I could have eaten that sandwich and had room for dinner, you know. You didn’t have to toss it out. It was only one sandwich.”
“Joseph, seriously?” I glared back at him holding the bottle of wine in my hand.
He shut off the engine as I looked over at the house from the street. It was a quiet nice little neighborhood. I don’t know if I could manage a simple little life such as this.
I loo
