They’d had their dinner, but Joe knew it would be their last meal of the day.
They’d been walking for a long time, pretending to be enjoying the fresh air, but they walked because there was no money left for the tram.
At the corner of Henri-Julien Street, Christophe stopped again. “Oh, this is where the market is,” he said, excitingly, pulling on Joe’s sleeve. “I’ve never been. Let’s steal some grapes―”
“Stop it.” Joe laughed.
“I’ve visited your mother, but never really explored this neighborhood before. This is where you were raised. Where’s the famous Casa D’Italia? And your church, the one you used to go to―”
But Joe kept on walking. “Come on. I don’t wanna see the market.”
“Oh.” Chris sulked again, kicking at something with the tip of his boot. “Fine.”
Everyone in the neighborho
