Chapter 2

At 6:30 AM, before dawn had fully broken, I had just finished setting up my cart when a pot-bellied middle-aged man approached me.

He fished out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and offered it to me with a seemingly friendly smile.

"Hey buddy, want one?"

I hesitated. Was this the famous small-town hospitality I'd heard about? The casual conversation felt oddly comforting.

But I don't smoke, so I politely declined.

The man withdrew his hand and leaned against my cart, his tone turning probing.

"So, which school staff are you friends with? It'd be good to know!"

Friends with school staff? What kind of question was that? I was momentarily confused.

I responded politely, "I'm just here to sell some food. Don't know anyone at the school."

"I see..." The man fell silent for a moment, looking down at the items on my cart.

When he looked up again, his friendly smile had been replaced by an unexpected ferocity.

"Listen, kid. If you don't know anyone, why are you trying to steal this spot? Get the hell out of here!"

Hearing this, I frowned deeply.

Sure, my spot was in a prime location, but this wasn't some market with assigned stalls. It was first come, first served.

Looking at the man's sudden change in attitude, I coldly replied, "I got here first. Why should I leave?"

The middle-aged man laughed as if he'd heard a joke. He banged his fist on my cart, his face menacing. That earlier friendly smile seemed like a figment of my imagination.

"This has always been my spot," he growled.

"And I run things around here."

Before I could respond, a crowd suddenly gathered around us.

"Everyone thinks they can just waltz in here without knowing their place," someone sneered.

"How dare you try to take this spot without any connections?" another voice chimed in.

"Didn't you hear Marcus tell you to move?" a third person threatened.

The crowd pressed closer, looking ready to get physical.

Now I understood the man's earlier question. So they were ganging up on me because I had no connections?

I had thought I'd escaped the office politics, but it seemed small towns had their own brand of bullying.

Understanding their intentions, I was annoyed but didn't want to stoop to their level.

"So where am I supposed to go?" I asked, trying to keep my cool.

Marcus snorted and mockingly pointed behind me.

"Over there."

I looked where he was pointing - a secluded corner, blocked from view by other vendors, right next to a public restroom.

The anger I had just suppressed bubbled up again. I was about to argue when a wrinkled hand gripped my wrist.

It was Old Joe, the elderly vendor next to me. He gave me a knowing look.

"Better to swallow your pride than get hurt, son."

I had come here just to experience a simpler life. Not wanting to cause trouble, I tried to calm myself and followed Old Joe to the corner. His stall was nearby too.

I asked him, "Does no one stop them from doing this?"

Old Joe shook his head and sighed deeply.

"Who's going to stop them? The people in charge are the ones protecting Marcus and his gang."

"If you don't have power or money, you'd better just stay put in this corner."

"Don't try to fight them head-on, or you'll be the one getting hurt."

I looked around and saw a few other small carts scattered in less crowded corners. Seems they had been pushed aside by Marcus's group too.

"Why don't you all go somewhere else?" I asked, puzzled.

Old Joe waved his hand dismissively.

"Where isn't it like this?"

With that, he started frying up some donuts.

Indeed, where wasn't it like this?

A strange sadness welled up in me as I lowered my head to set up my own cart.

But as I looked down, I jumped back two meters in shock.

There were several dead cockroaches floating in my frying oil!