But maybe he should have considered how long it would actually take to reach the storefront of the most popular booth in the Expo.
Because while he was still seething somewhere at the far end of the line, stuck behind bodies while his temper and rage slowly fermented, somewhere inside his intended destination, the peaceful and deeply content group of fortunate individuals was already showing off their balls.
The fried kind.
Reeve, for one, could barely believe he had made the dish with his own hands.
Sure, not every piece had come out perfectly round. A few of the earlier attempts were a little lumpy, slightly misshapen, and clearly rolled with enthusiasm rather than finesse. But the moment he picked one up, all doubts vanished.
He held the small golden ball carefully between his fingers and pulled it apart.
The crust gave way with a soft crackle.
