He felt like throwing up.
There was thunder in the pits of his stomach struggling to break free, restless in the cramped space. He shoved another spoonful of Cream Fish Fingers into his mouth, forced his throat to swallow. The rumbling ceased; the urge to vomit didn't.
He cupped his head with both hands and stared at the half-eaten food on the plate. The sweet tang of the cream was still on his tongue, and his eyebrows furrowed as the taste rekindled the rumbling.
Another mouthful.
Chew and swallow. Chew and swallow.
Rice and a piece of pseudofish sat still in his mouth.
It must've been the coffee and the cigarettes. It must've been that spicy lunch pretending to be sweet. He chewed and swallowed.
He needed to throw up.
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