The cold wind whips around the corner of the tall building, but I cannot feel it. All I can feel is the gnawing pain of starvation; it's fierce pull draws me closer to the corner store. I've been in there dozens of times, I even know the clerk by name: Stavi.
Now just outside the store, a twinge of nervousness and guilt roil in my stomach; I don't know if I can go through with this. The hunger returns, fiercer and more desperate than ever. I swallow my fear, slip on my ski mask, and fumble for the revolver in my waistband.
Stavi tried to fight back, but my hunger was stronger. He didn't give me a choice; my hunger didn't give him a chance. As I run out of his store with twenty-five bucks, I hear the sound of sirens approaching quickly.
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