I'm angry as I help Karlie pull down the boxes of cereal from a high shelf. There are so many different kinds; Froot Loops, Coco Pops, Honey Comb, Cheerios, Reese's Puffs. And my favourite, Milo. Some boxes are opened, those ones probably from the abandoned apartments. But they're still food, therefore, worth as good as gold now.
Karlie has a notepad resting on her thigh as she sits cross-legged on the cold floor. The back of her jeans are dirtied by the dust that layers the floor, but she doesn't seem to care. We work together—I name the brand and how many boxes there are while she jots it down on her notepad.
At times like these, they remind me of when Karlie and I would call each other partners in crime. There are so many memories that we've created together, dating back to the time when we first met when she saved me from a bunch of guys who were trying to… well, I don't want to get into that part of the story.
