Ungaaa!

The subway doors slid open. Hank caught the scent of smoke and seared meat. He sighed. This was the part he hated. He stepped out, minding the gap and trying not to stare at the hunched shapes around the fires.

A big male waved some sort of club. Looked like part of a street sign. He grunted at Hank. Hank clutched his briefcase and puffed himself up. “Ungaaa! Tak dor ungoway,” he said. His accent was atrocious.

The caveman hefted his weapon, eyeing Hank uncertainly. Hank reached into his pocket. He held out a candy bar. Payday. They loved peanuts.