Fiery Harvest

I abandoned the suffocating closet, marched beneath the apartment door, and slipped out the lobby onto the morning sidewalk. Prowling along the concrete, I scaled the black wrought-iron leg of an outdoor pizzeria table. Perched on the perforated metal mesh sat a sealed plastic packet packed with dried, fiery red chili flakes and yellow seeds. Eddy warned against tearing random street rations, but we demand raw heat. I planted my synthetic knee onto the pouch and ripped the serrated edge wide with my claws. A pungent cloud of dry spice erupted across the iron grid. I dragged my tongue across the scattered crimson flakes, letting the searing burn ignite my jaws. This patio belongs to us.