The scent of food hit my nose before I knew where it was coming from. And it smelled delicious. My mouth watered. I had to keep swallowing so I wouldn't drool, and I picked up speed. When the food truck came into view, I studied the sign on the side. The Shark Pit. It was early for lunch, but there was still a long line of people. I guessed any time was food truck time.
“Let's eat there," I said, rushing forward. The aroma of cooked meat and barbeque sauce became stronger the closer we got.
“You sure?" Griffin quirked his head, watching a couple of people walk by carrying paper plates full of food.
“Definitely."
“Your wish is my command."
We got in line.
“Where were you born?" I asked, suddenly, while we waited.
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “New York," Griffin answered.
