Chapter 27 - Street Food and Street Prophets

Meechelle 1.9k words

My hand froze halfway to my mouth, chicken grease sticking to my fingers.

“Hand me some money,” I muttered.

Damian scoffed. “You wish. You don’t even have money to buy food, yet you’re making mou—”

I shoved the chicken into his mouth before he could finish talking. His lips parted...

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