As they kept talking, they actually started walking toward the dining table.
Strutting arrogantly, as if the place already belonged to them.
Someone pulled out a chair and sat down.
Someone reached out to touch the tableware.
And that fat man in a suit sat down right beside me.
I couldn’t even remember his name anymore.
Before I could move away, his hand was already on my shoulder.
Greasy, thick palm pressing on me, the sharp smell of cologne mixed with sweat drilling into my nose.
“So, tell me, what do you want to eat?”
He deliberately leaned closer, a nauseating fake smile hanging on his lips.
“My treat.”
“After all, you’re so poor you can’t even afford a meal.”
“Fresh out of school and straight to prison food — I bet you’ve never had anything good in your life.”
In that ins
