Ten minutes later, Bruce looked at Jack in the passenger seat. Jack wiped his eyes with a tissue, deliberately making exaggerated gestures as he said in a strange tone, "Oh, your joke was so funny. I haven't laughed that happily in a long time!"
"What's so funny?" Bruce asked, staring straight ahead.
Suddenly, Jack leaned close to Bruce, practically pressing his face against Bruce's. Eyes wide, he asked, "Do you need to eat? Do you get hungry? I still have bread in my car. Want some?"
"No, I'm not hungry," Bruce replied. But Jack quickly exposed him. He pressed his head near Bruce's stomach and said, "I heard your stomach growling. You must be hungry. Come on, have some bread!"
Jack pulled out the unfinished bread from his pocket, sniffed hard, and said, "It's leftover from last night, but it still tastes really good. Don't you want some?"
"No." Bruce refused again. Even if he starved to death, he would never eat anything from the Joker. Who knew what kind of bomb he might have stuffed into it?
Jack suddenly fell silent. Holding half the loaf in his hands, he sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat and looked at the congested traffic ahead. "Why didn't you ask me that sooner?... Why not sooner?"
"What question?" Bruce glanced at him.
"How do you eat when you have no money?... The question you just asked me. You really should've asked it sooner." Jack suddenly changed expression, smoothing his messy hair and rubbing his eyes.
"What's wrong with that question?" Bruce asked again.
"Nothing." Jack suddenly shook his head, as though he no longer wanted to speak. After a while, he asked, "Have you made any money yet?"
"Not yet." Bruce pressed the accelerator. The truck moved forward a short distance, then