Unpacking the Night

I pushed through the apartment door and climbed up to the third floor, leaving the evening street behind. Inside the quiet living room, I set a warm white paper takeout box with red pagoda print on the low coffee table. Beside it, a pair of wooden chopsticks rested in paper sleeves. I pulled off my sneakers, setting them neatly side by side by the rug, and sank back onto the edge of the low sofa. The soft steam carried the smell of fried noodles and soy sauce into the dim room. I unclipped the wire handle of the takeout box and let the cardboard flap fall open.