The beautiful man... He didn't bother at all. He seemed to have allocated the rest of the evening for this one boy.
There was no hurry in his movements, fidgeting, or signs of impatience. He walked beside the boy with a leisurely pace, matching his slow, shuffling steps, and he listened to the boy's halting words with close attention.
The rest of the world seemed to fade away, the bustling street, the passing crowds, the vendors calling out their wares—all of it became background noise to the simple act of caring for one hungry child.
He brought him and had him seated on the bench of a cookshop, where an already made meal was there for him.
He truly meant to stuff the boy up.
The cookshop was a modest establishment, its wooden sign creaking gently in the evening breeze, but the food it served appeared hearty and filling.
