I looked around, half-expecting someone to intervene, but the other patrons were engrossed in their own worlds, oblivious to the scene unfolding near them.
The discomfort crept not from surprise—I’d seen hardship in my line of work before—but from something unresolved about their presence here, in a place so far removed from where I’d expect to find children like them, asking for scraps.
Their eyes held a weight that felt too heavy for such young faces.
I hesitated, my thoughts scrambling for a response.
These moments were rare, where life’s stark inequalities crashed into the sanitized rituals of my everyday routine.
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