The sandwiches were made in twenty minutes. It turned out that Anthony was really picky about how he took his meals. He cut out the hard sides at the very beginning, then put peanut butter on each of the loaves. He went on to put a layer of jam on both and then went on to put another layer of peanut butter. Okay, so, he wasn't so picky with that, but he took the sandwich, cut it into four smaller squares and then put tomato ketchup on it.
Yes, he did that.
I stared at him the whole time he went on with the process of making the hideous thing. He didn't spare me a glance, of course. And then he brought out a glass of milk, too, and then ate those things with milk. My hands remained frozen over the sandwiches I was making, the knife pointed towards Anthony the whole time he went about cooking. A shiver of disgust ran down my spine, which was the first time he noticed me.
