Bellinger was halfway done with his fries before they were halfway through the park, hadn’t come close to sitting down.
He made these wolfing noises like the potatoes were blocking his sinus cavity while he was trying to breathe while he walked and ate.
Royal headed for the closest picnic table and Bellinger protested with a full mouth.
“UnUnUnhum.”
Bellinger swallowed. It seemed like a chore.
“On the other side of the amphitheater. I don’t wanna get hit with a Frisbee.”
Royal rolled his eyes, wanted Bellinger to see him rolling them.
“I eat lunch here all the time, no disc golfer has ever come close to hitting me.”
“Well, I ain’t taking any chances. They bug me.”
Bellinger led the way to the tables on the other side of the small stage where the city-sponsored Shakespeare plays and family-friendly acoustic musicians.
Bellinger was gonna be in Royal’s family soon, marry his sister.
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