[ WP ] The King was sitting on the street ; thanking for the coins in his hands .

The King - as he would call himself - was pleased to overcome his quota for the day. 
 He could n't remember when the last fine meal filled his stomach. Was it before or after he killed the real one? Probably the former. 
 
 
 With new vigor in his old bones, he went up and queued up for the fragrant sausages they sell opposite his begging place. 
 He could n't help but chuckle about the thought that he was a little masochistic for choosing this place. 
 It was the best place he could find in the whole city and the fortune in his hands confirmed his wise decision. 
 He payed the man and sat again on the street. 
 
 The bun in his hands was crispy and the sausage in the middle juicy. 
 These sausages are delicious. If he could come here everyday he would have enough money to buy one of these market stalls for himself. 
 Would n't it be ironic if he called it'The Sausage King'? His brother would burst with envy when he knew about it. May he rest in peace. 
 
 
 The juice dripping from his chin; he opened his hand for a new rattling of copper. 
 Maybe he should buy a bunch of these and place one in every corner of the city. Who needs a throne when you can command a whole army of sausages? 
 He would invade the city from within and claim the kingdom that was rightfully his from his stupid nephew. His only brother never had the patient to properly teach his son on how to rule. 
 His nephew would kneel before him - The Sausage King. 
 Crackling he threw his head back on the prospect of his glorious future.
