My left hand dug into a piece of glass.
It really hurt, but I couldn't care less because there was half a box of egg fried rice that was three days out of date in the trash can in front of me. In the third year of the apocalypse, a box of egg fried rice was worth enough for me to risk one hand.
I squatted on the edge of the garbage mountain and pulled out the rancid lunch box. The rice grains were as hard as sand, and there was a suspicious layer of green hair on the surface, but they didn't stink - they were still edible.
I pinched one and was about to stuff it into my mouth.
"Brother, I advise you not to eat it."
I was stunned.
