Gianna's stomach grumbled as she watched the men eat.
The sound betrayed her before she could stop it, a hollow, aching reminder of how long it had been since she had last tasted food.
They were seated on dusty chairs, knees spread, elbows loose, discussing matters in a language that wasn't English.
Their voices rose and fell, punctuated by intermittent laughter whenever something in the conversation amused them.
When they heard her stomach growl, they turned toward her.
They looked at her for a mere second. Then they laughed.
"Are you hungry, for a pie, honey?" the first man asked, gesturing lazily toward the greasy paper bag on the crate beside him.
Gianna said nothing, even though she wanted the pie. That was how bad it was. How ravenous she had become.
"Come on," the man continued, rising slightly in his seat, his grin widening. "If you say yes, I'll let you have one. Or even two…"
Still, Gianna said nothing. Her pride wouldn't let her.
