The women who sat on each other’s deep LGBT free dad hugs shirt me from one thriller to another, from far away and far away. They are fascinated and obsessed. I thought it was endless, until the day the stories suddenly became pity. Low. Startled. Somewhere there are people who broke the dam to bring salt water into the field. Somewhere there are corners of the house with no rice paddies, and white water, only shrimp. The old farmers scolded and bought each can of rice to cook dinner. The rice plant was chased and chased away, spurned. Someone sighed, filled with hunches. I have to leave the shuffling job. Later on, there were several occasions when going through the old factory, through the ground, only to hang the chimney, hear cold, like through a fire-extinguisher, an abandoned sugar oven, a stale kiln of stew. As if sighing. of people who have been attached to them are still subtle. Once bustling.Once golden. Now the old shelf was green and plagued, staring, remembering the noon sleeping in the rice pile. Remember the women who like to chew raw rice, sit and talk about the shelf.
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