A boy and his family move down into a dangerous neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen during the Depression, and deal with the dangers that come along with it.
A few minutes later, Frank entered through the front of The Irish Butcher’s Excellency: Fresh Today! store, his external feelings admissible to the average passerby, his insides a shaky mess. This plan had so many terrible outcomes he scarcely had room in his mind to think.
A fat man wearing a bloody apron leered down at Frank over the counter. “Laddie, it says ‘adults only’ for a ruddy good reason.”
“I got money.” Frank said simply.
The man paused for a moment, weighing his profit against the law. “Alrighty, son. What can I get fer a blind boyo like yeh?”
“Two pound sausages.”
The man snorted, and Frank watched repulsively as snot trickled onto the counter. “During these times, I doubt yer mummy could pay for that.”
“I got money.” Frank repeated.
“Lemme see it,” the butcher growled, still suspicious as he wiped his nose.
“Lemme see what I’m buyin’ first.”
The butcher paused again, still leering at him. Slowly, he moved his hand and reluctantly pulled out two massive sausages, and slapped them on the counter. Frank did a funny spasm, and grasped the area between his legs.
“Oh, bloody-A. Get out, you non-toilet-trained, un-paying bollix—what the hell? Oi! Oi! OI! Stop pissing in me shop! I said stop pissing in me shop!”
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