"Raw meaaaaaatbaaaaaalls! Watch out bro, don't touch the wet paint!"
When the raw meatballs stacked on top of each other in a metal tray passed by nose level, the smell hit the back of my throat. It's so spicy, you know the kind you can tell from its sharp smell.
"Have a taste, my brother, hooopppp!"
I was just about to say keep your distance bro when the guy tossed the raw meatball-looking atom bomb, which he tucked into a little bit of greens, right into my mouth.
I try to say something, but it's no use; the moment a mouthful of that stuff touched my palate, I was done for, sweat instantly poured out from everywhere as if they poured water over my head.
I'm aware my body is rebelling, but the guy won't stop, he's trying to shove the second one in. I'm pushing him away with my hand, and the agile bastard is forcing it from below and pressing from above.
