"Mother fucker, your ass will be on fire...!"
"I don't care! She broke my heart! She can have my ass too...!"
Near a tiny street food mart that looked like it hadn't seen a health inspector since the last millennium, two boys sat at a table loaded with a gastronomic explosion of spicy chaos.
One of them was eating like a vacuum cleaner on overdrive, as if he'd been marooned on a desert island with nothing but his hunger for company.
The other young man sat opposite, watching his friend's culinary self-destruction with a mixture of pity and disbelief.
The table was a battlefield of street foods that could double as firecrackers. Flaming hot bacon, Carolina Reaper noodles—these weren't just any spicy noodles; they were the kind that made dragons weep. And to wash down this inferno, a large glass of pepper smoothie sat like a dare.
Not to mention, the food mart's hygiene was as questionable as a three-dollar bill.
