He stared down at it with the disappointment of knowing that his mistake caused the foot-long sandwich to be piled with lettuce, mayonnaise, onions, and all the other shit they put on them when you forget to say 'plain' to the person at the register. He knew the manager well enough to know the sandwich could be replaced at no charge, but he wasn't going to say anything. It was his own mistake. Why should someone else's bottom line suffer because he'd forgotten to do something that had been routine since he was old enough to order his own food?
He wasn't that hungry after all. The sandwich had been ordered out of routine and not hunger. He slid the top piece of bread back over the top of it, so he didn't have to look at it. He'd sit at the table and endure the smell of mayonnaise for another fifteen minutes before tossing the sandwich in the trash on his way back to work. It was a waste of food, but he was too embarassed to admit to anyone why he wanted to give it away.
Really, he was grateful that for the first time in at least a month something had made the pen move in his hand. At Eight dollars, that was a value even if he couldn't figure out where it was going. Sometimes it's not important that it goes any where, as long as it goes.
Last day of September, he thought. Where did the month go?