In the end, Bruce still couldn't work up the courage to use the kitchen utensils here. It wasn't that he was timid; he had just seen someone leaning nearby, doing drugs, and tossing a handful of plant roots into the pot.
He didn't demand that the food be perfectly clean and sanitary, but it shouldn't be poisonous, at the very least, should it?
When he reached the ground floor, Bruce decided to scout out the area first. It was already nearing dusk, and the streets were still fairly crowded and noisy. Bruce felt utterly out of place, with everyone looking at him strangely.
Bruce knew that not many people recognized him. He was more famous among the upper circles, since those people could afford entertainment magazines and often saw pictures of him stumbling out of bars after nights of revelry.
But the people here could mostly only afford ordinary newspapers, which rarely carried gossip columns. If they didn't read magazines, they probably wouldn't know what Bruce looked like.
Bruce lowered his head and looked at his clothes. He wasn't stupid enough to come here dressed head to toe in designer labels. Everything he wore was unbranded, no different from what ordinary Gotham City residents wore on the streets.
Bruce thought the problem might be his shoes. He had rushed over straight from a shareholders' meeting and hadn't had time to change out of his leather shoes. He had also forgotten to take off his watch. They might have made him look a little out of place here.
The watch was easy enough to deal with; he could just take it off and put it in his pocket. But if he took off his leather shoes, where was he supposed to find another pair?
Bruce looked around and noticed that many