But nothing could detract from how freeing and awe-inspiring every experience was.

Turning another corner, I spotted a food truck promising the best Mexican this side of the border. Hadn’t one of my bucket list items been to eat from a street vendor?

It might make you sick.

Yes, it might. But food poisoning would be yet another adventure I’d long been denied. Pulling the purse from my pocket, I joined the queue and waited my turn. As I shuffled to the front, I craned my neck to look at the guy leering down in a grease-spotted apron.

“What can I getcha?” He chewed a piece of gum, fingers twirling his pencil in impatience.

I narrowed my eyes at the menu behind him. “Um, what do you recommend?”

He scoffed. “Recommend? Lady, do I look like I have time to shoot the shit with you?” He pointed at the crowd behind me with his pencil. “Hurry up. I got paying people to feed.”

I opened my wallet and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll just have something chicken.” I handed him the money. “Oh, and not hot. I don’t like spice.”

“Got it.” He snorted. “Chicken and bland. Boring order for a boring girl.”

I tensed. “Excuse me?”

He looked me up and down. “Beat it, princess. Your order will be ready in five minutes. Pick-up is at the window down the truck.” He tossed me a dirty ten-dollar bill. “Here’s your change.”

I curled my fingers around the money, annoyance and hurt making equal acid tracks inside me. I’d never been talked to that way. No one dared.

The fact he’d called me boring, when I completely agreed with him, pissed me off even more. I wadded up the money and threw it at him. “Know what? Add a beef something or other to that order, too. And make it extra spicy.”

I walked off toward the collection window before he could insult me anymore.

Chapter Five

THE BEEF WAS a bad idea.

After collecting my dinner, I strolled toward Times Square where a few tables and chairs had been placed for milling pedestrians. The table was filthy, the chair rickety, but I’d never eaten with such vibrancy as my entertainment before.

The tinfoil wrapped burrito steamed with flavor as I opened it and inhaled. Determined to prove the greasy man wrong, I took a bite of the beef, chewed, and grinned.

It’s not so bad.

Then the heat began.

My tongue shrivelled up.

The Mexican food kicked me hard. Quicker and hotter until my grin switched to a gasp, wheezing in spicy agony.

Water!

Oh, my God, I need water.

My eyes streamed with tears as I grabbed both burritos, left my commandeered table, and bolted toward the convenience store blinking with billboards of ice-cold water and cola bottles.

Charging inside, I yanked open a glass-fronted fridge, grabbed a water, and tore off the cap. I downed it in three seconds. And still, the fire burned my tongue and lips.

Gasping, I grabbed a chocolate milk.

Struggling with the cap, I finally got it open and took a few greedy sips. The full-fat milk helped temper some of the hateful rage. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

“I hope you’re going to pay for that.” A shop girl with pink hair raised an eyebrow.

Wiping my lips with the back of my hand (something I would never do in my real world), I nodded and collected another water bottle while somehow hugging my mostly-untouched burritos. “Yes, sorry. The spice caught me unaware.”

She grinned. “Oh shit, did you piss off Pete?”

“Pete?” I placed the two water bottles (one full, one empty) and the half-drunk chocolate milk onto the conveyer belt.

The shopkeeper passed them over the scanner, ringing up the sale. “Yeah, the guy who owns the Mexican street meat.” She giggled. “He makes a mean taco, but man, he’s cruel on the hot sauce.”

I ran my tongue over my still stinging lips. “I kind of asked for it.” Shrugging, I smiled. “I don’t get out much. I wasn’t aware not to antagonize food sellers.”

She bagged my purchases. “Yep, everyone knows that. Especially not to piss off the street kings.”

I dug into my wallet and pulled out a twenty. She took it, opened the register, then passed me my change. The fact she spoke to me with no tension or concern made me relax.

I was so used to talking to women from a boss-employee relationship. No one joked in my presence or told me what to do in case I fired them. And those who did try to befriend me only did so for a promotion or raise.

I could taste fakery like a rotten apple.

We shared another smile before awkwardness crept in. I didn’t know how to end a friendly conversation or even when to leave after buying something.

The girl saved me from standing there like an idiot. “Well, you have a good night. And don’t piss off any more people, you hear?”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks for your help.”

“No sweat.” She gave me a small wave before disappearing from the till to finish stocking a shelf with chips.

Making sure I had both burritos and my valuable liquids to get me through the fire-breathing dragon of Pete’s revenge, I left the shop and re-entered the manic world of shoppers and tourists.

I ducked and jived through the crowd, intending to sit back down and try the blander chicken burrito, only to find my table and chair had been nabbed by a family with three young children who blinked glassy-eyed with tiredness in the glow of the bright neon lights.

All the other tables were occupied.

Oh, well.