Lots of Painful Conversations

"Ciiikofteeeeeeeee! Oh, brother, don't touch it, oil painting!"

When the raw meatballs lined up in a metal tray passed from the level of my nose, the smell hit my nose. How is that painful? All of them are so sharp that their bitterness is evident from their scent.

"Here, bro, for a taste, hooopppp!"

I was going to say stay away when the guy threw the raw meatball-looking atomic bomb into my mouth, which he tucked into a bit of green.

I'm trying to say something, but in vain; as soon as a pinch of relief touched my palate, I canceled. Sweat poured out from all sides as if they had poured water over my head.

I know my body is revolting, but the guy doesn't stop; he tries to push the second one. I move with my hand; the agile pimp drives from below and makes from above.