After separating from them, I checked my phone — 1:30 p.m.
"Time for lunch," I muttered.
Finding a decent meal while traveling isn't easy, especially when home-cooked food isn't an option. I reminded myself of the rules I've picked up over time: the key is freshness, plenty of protein and fiber, convenience, and minimal processing.
And it's worth remembering, I thought, when choosing food from a place I don't know, always look for somewhere clean, with lots of people coming and going. That usually means the food is fresh. And anything protein-rich or perishable should be safe to carry until I actually eat it.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and scanned the street ahead, looking for a place that ticked all the boxes.
Denube today looked orderly and bustling, but it was not always like this. Just fifty years ago, the city was infamous for its waste dumping and harsh living conditions. Garbage littered every street, the roads were narrow, and foul smells permeated the air.
Everything began to change when Sir Milton Denube returned to his hometown after studying abroad. Although he came from an affluent family with some influence in government, no one had ever seriously considered improving the city. When he arrived with ideas for reform, it was far from easy. He faced pressure from his own family and constant resistance from the local mayor, who warned him not to interfere — claiming it would be dangerous.
Yet Sir Milton refused to back down. Through immense struggle, hard work, and numerous court battles, he pressed on. His first major initiative was waste management, accompanied by a campaign to educate citizens on keeping the city clean every fifteen days. Slowly, people began to volunteer. They realized that someone was stepping forward for them, fighting for a better life, and felt compelled to support the effort. After all, who wouldn't want cleaner air and a more livable city? Progress required a pioneer, and Sir Milton Denube became that beacon.
Of course, challenges did not disappear entirely. With every development came new problems. Urban settlement issues, rising sound pollution, and the growing number of cars contributed to traffic congestion. Despite government policies to mitigate accidents, traffic incidents remained a concern. Still, the city had come a long way — a testament to persistent vision, community effort, and the enduring impact of one determined individual.
"Well, you must be thinking, how do I know so much about it? It's really common knowledge — you've probably already read about it in school books," I said to myself with a small smirk.
Yeah, that's right. There's even a dedicated chapter on it: Denube — from a garbage city to a Silicon Valley.
I shook my head, amused at the thought. It was strange to imagine that the streets I was walking today, neat and full of life, were once filled with trash and narrow, foul-smelling alleys. And yet, here I was, strolling through a city that had been transformed, thanks to one determined pioneer and the people who had followed him.
I kept walking, letting my eyes roam over the streets of Denube. The city had a rhythm of its own now — a mix of old charm and modern efficiency. Sleek glass-fronted buildings stood beside older brick structures, a reminder that history and progress often walked hand in hand. Street vendors called out, offering snacks and drinks, while people bustled past on bicycles, scooters, and cars, all weaving through the traffic with surprising ease.
The air smelled faintly of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the metallic tang of the city's busy roads. I couldn't help but notice the small parks tucked between blocks, trees stretching toward the sky, and fountains that gurgled quietly amid the urban noise. Somehow, all these little details made the city feel alive — not just clean and organized, but full of stories, memories, and effort.
I paused for a moment to watch a group of children playing near a fountain, their laughter echoing against the walls of a nearby office building. It struck me how much Denube had changed in fifty years. From a place where garbage lined the streets to a city where people could actually breathe, move freely, and dream — the transformation was astonishing.
As I started walking again, my stomach reminded me that I still had to find lunch. But even as I looked for a place to eat, I found myself appreciating the city in a way I hadn't expected. Denube wasn't just a backdrop for my daily life; it was a city that had fought its way into the present, one step at a time.
My stomach grumbled again, pulling me back to the present. All this wandering and thinking about the city's history had made me realize just how hungry I was. Time to put theory into practice — or in this case, find somewhere to eat.
I scanned the street, keeping my own rules in mind. Freshness, high protein, minimal processing — and, of course, a place that looked clean and busy. A crowded spot usually meant the food moved quickly, which was always a good sign.
After a few steps, my eyes caught a small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. The sign above the door was simple, the windows spotless, and inside, people were chatting while waiting for their orders. Perfect. I could already tell the ingredients weren't sitting around for hours.
I stepped into the café, letting the bell above the door announce my entrance. That's when I noticed him — a man leaning casually against the counter, his focus entirely on the few items left on the shelves behind it. There was something about him that immediately made me curious.
Alex leaned against the counter, the fluorescent light of the apartment kitchen casting a weak glow on the last few items in the cupboard. It was the third week of the month, the financial valley between paychecks, and the budget was tight enough to squeak. This wasn't a time for culinary dreams; it was time for resourcefulness.
Alex pulled out the essentials, the true anchors of a cheap and healthy diet. First, the half-empty bag of brown rice—the versatile base for every inexpensive meal known to humanity. Beside it, a sack of dried red lentils (dal). These were the heroes of the week, offering plant-based protein and fiber for mere pennies per serving.
"You, my friend," Alex murmured, picking up the bag of lentils, "are about to become a three-day wonder." Lentil soup, fragrant with turmeric and garlic, was an inexpensive comfort that promised leftovers.
Next came the protein inventory. The fridge offered up a carton of eggs, the ultimate budget powerhouse. Fried for a quick lunch, scrambled for a fast dinner, or hard-boiled for a grab-and-go snack—eggs were non-negotiable. For a heartier meal, Alex bypassed the expensive cuts of meat and reached for the budget staple of poultry: chicken thighs. Cheaper and richer in flavor than breast meat, they could be stretched beautifully when simmered with vegetables and spices.
A quick assessment of the canned goods completed the list: a few cans of black beans and diced tomatoes. Mixed together with a spoonful of chili powder, they instantly became a nutritious, filling, and incredibly cheap chili base. The final additions to the shopping cart would be an inexpensive bag of oats for breakfast and a handful of sturdy potatoes, destined to be roasted or boiled to bulk up any stew.
Later that evening, the aroma of spices and simmering broth filled the apartment. Alex wasn't eating takeout, steak, or anything fancy. The dinner consisted of a simple bowl of thick, fragrant lentil soup, accompanied by a small portion of rice. It was hot, it was nutritious, and it filled the empty space in the budget and the stomach.
As Alex ate, a sense of calm settled in. Eating well on a budget wasn't about sacrifice; it was about knowing the foundations. With rice, beans, eggs, and a little creativity, every week could end, not in scarcity, but in a warm, satisfying meal.
I couldn't stop myself from approaching him. There was something about the way he moved and arranged everything that drew me in.
"Mind if I join you?" I asked.
He looked up, gave a small nod, and said, "Sure, go ahead."
I slid into the seat across from him and quickly scanned the menu. Keeping it light, I ordered a simple bowl of rice, some protein-rich dal, and a fresh salad. It wasn't fancy, but it would do for now.
"Hello, my name is James," I said.
"And yours?" I added, expecting a response.
"Alex," he replied plainly, without any interest, eyes fully focused on his food.
Before I could say anything else, he looked up briefly and said, "Don't you know the basic rule? When eating, don't talk — focus on your food so your mind gives the proper signal. Eat slowly, never fill yourself too fast. So… don't talk."
I was already hungry, so without any delay, we started eating our food.
By around 2:30 p.m., the waiter came with the bill, and I paid for it.
After paying his bill, Alex, as if calculating something, thought for a moment. Then he nodded, stood up, and walked away.
I couldn't talk to him.
What an interesting man.
I also walked out, my mind drifting to the thought of finding a place to stay.