September 30, 2005
If you dare, write short-shortsLiterature
Today is Friday and that means that at some point in the next 21 hours, I’m going to write 55 words which contain an entire story. I’m not that big on memes but this one (“55 Fiction Fridays”) is precious to me, because it reminds me of writing exercises and workshops and english minor-y goodness. Por ejemplo:
She nervously adjusted her sari, hoping no one noticed. So far, the night had gone flawlessly; she had made a good impression on everyone, she could just tell.
The older woman at the table noted how silk was tugged upwards. Taking a delicate sip of tea, she thought, Shes not good enough for our family.
I’ve consistently written one of these uber-short shorts for weeks now, but last week was the first time a fellow mutineer noticed. Abhi’s interest in the concept of nanofiction made me ponder the possibility that some of YOU would find it fascinating as well. If I further needed to justify making a mutiny out of it, know this: the good Professor Guest Blogger himself reads my “55” and I am aware of this because he referenced one at the last NYC meetup. Not that I need to defend it or anything… ;)
Flash fiction, also called sudden fiction, micro fiction, postcard fiction or short-short fiction, is a class of short story of limited word length. Definitions differ but is generally accepted that flash fiction stories are at most 200 to 1000 words in length. Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word flash: “For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.” Traditional short stories are 2,000 to 10,000 words in length.[wiki]
That Hemingway example is ridiculously inspiring. One day I want to write a short that short. I don’t even know if there is a name for a short so short. There is, however, a name for the type of writing this meme encourages:
One type of flash fiction is the short story with an exact word count. An example is 55 Fiction or Nanofiction. These are complete stories, with at least one character and a discernible plot, exactly 55 words long.[wiki]
The virus is spreading throughout the brown blogosphere. SM readers Maisnon, Andrea and Chai are the three whom I go out of my way to check on (hee! no pressure, kids!), but if you decide to try it, please leave a link to your work of art in the comments. I’ll be happy if you flash me. :)
anna on September 30, 2005 03:28 AM in Blog, Haiku, Literature · T·r·a·c·k·b·a·c·k address · Direct link · Email post
Hello Anna,
Would you like us to write some desi-focused "short shorts" here, or is your message just an "FYI" ?
Fifty five words to write a story
Thats it? Fifty five words?
And the prize is?
No prize. Just for fun and sepia-mutiny
She stirs and takes off her panties again.
No prize? Forget it. Come back to bed
I slink to her, she kisses my neck.
You spend too much time on the internet
I can't get over that Hemingway piece. It's so good.
I'm going to have a go at this 55 word malarky, I don't care if the only other people are girls! I already have a background in super short movie-making. I just uploaded one to Google Video (who seem to have put some funny noise at the end).
Due to a lack of a blog of one's own:
Her feet pounded on the pavement. Her mind raced. Past the boathouse. Grad school, work, boy, marriage. Under the bridge. Dance, gym, career, parents, family. Down the stairs. One, two, three. Up the stairs. She slowed, stretching, reaching, her lungs expanding. One, two, three. Contracting. One, two, three. Time to start living the questions again.
BongBreaker - you made that film? It's great! Please email me, I want to ask you about the music. There's a .jpg email address on my web site.
My quickie attempt:
Vikas soon learned how to size up the customers. The people in the corner booth were whispering about their check, louder than they thought: "Could you take it? I promise I'll pay you back. Niles has my card. He's coming back on Friday."
Her voice broke. "I think." Was it, or wasn't it, a date?
One from me:
Their eyes locked and for a moment the bride's mask fell. Her face was a harbinger of the unspoken accusations in the decades ahead, the ice already closing over the remnants of her idealism and memories of another.
"She'll adjust", thought her mother, the lies coming more easily to her now. "After all, I did".
for desi short shorts - read S.M. Manto.Yes, him of the Toba Tek Singh fame - short shorts are not a 21 th century concept :-). His shorts will blow you away.
For good shorts read ammani
Aurangzeb wondered if he would live to see sunset, and peered at the Persian calligraphy one more time.
That saint again, inexplicably neither Hindu nor Muslim. The letter finally triggering acknowledgement of over fifty years of ruthless piety and suicidal arrogance; the horror of the path ahead still to be seen. My life was wasted....
A City Hall wedding had made sense. The license was just a formality; after all, they'd been together five years, lived together four. They were husband and wife long before the Judge declared them so.
Peering into the remains of the brownie fudge chunk, he wondered, "how will I get rid of her now?"
After Didi died, I thought Mummy would crumble. Strangely, it was Papa who stayed in his pajamas all day-- for weeks-- and would sit on the porch chain-smoking.
From where I was hiding, in the hall closet, I could see him crying into his hands as the Salvation Army collected the last of Didis clothes.
As he lifted the spoon to feed him, he paused. He wondered how many more days they would have like this: father and son eating together. The head turned away sharply as he lifted spoon to mouth, meaning that he was now full.
"Thats okay dad," said the son, "we'll try some more at dinner"
Never leave home without lipstick! Good advice, mom. Im a grown woman and thats all I ever learned from you. Dont forget foundation and blush. Cant let anyone see. Put on a bright smile and meet the other wives. Wish there was makeup for the bruises on the inside too.
She rubbed the gooseflesh on thin arms that now resembled elongated rambutans. Her thin cotton dress fluttered in gusts of airconditioning. She sat down on a luggage cart, and tried not to gape at the white people. Asphalt glittered to the horizon outside.
So this was America. It didn't look like Sesame Street at all.
damn those are good
OK, sorry for being the only commenter not to contribute his/her 55-word story, but I couldn't resist after I was reminded of the opening lines of James Merrill's epic (set around a ouija board no less) The Changing Light at Sandover, and I type 'em below as encouragement to all the 55-ers:
Admittedly I err by undertaking this
In the present time.
The baldest prose reportage was called for
That would reach
The widest public in the shortest time.
Time, it had transpired, was of the essence,
Time, the very attar of the rose, was running out.
We though were ancient foes,
I and the deadline...
[The above is from memory, so don't get on my case if I got some of it not quite right]...
Umair,
no worries! i didn't expect people to leave actual 55s in the comments unless they lacked blogs of their own, though i'm totally fine with it. this is delightful! (and NO, they don't HAVE to be desi-related.)
everyone else,
if you just want to comment, you can, you know. you don't HAVE to write one. :D
Upon the hilly dunes he stood as the Janjaweed below descended like a plague upon the dark skinned refugees, burning and tearing. Soon he would descend upon them.
Unsheathing his twin blades Justice and Vengeance, he resolved to utter the words Victims, arent we all, each time he found his mark. He found it often.
Surreptiously she clicked the window open. Last time, she promised herself, then back to work. Frantically looking around her, palms sweaty, eyes gleaming, she scrolled down. An hour later, she felt a slightly damp palm on her shoulder. Shrieking, guiltily she spun and confronted her boss. I didnt know you were a fellow Mutineer too.
The colour of their skin is the same cocoa brown, but their features set them apart; his slanted eyes and nappy hair, her prominent nose and wide hips. Inside of their bodies, the same organs and viens bubble, the same hearts beat, but it is not enough to please them.
Legacies of keeping up appearances.
Since I gave you that leather eye patch, you look about as glum as a Canadian goose stuck in an oil slick.
Cortez didnt answer, but his live eye glistened with revolutionary conceit.
He continued, in the same cloying tone, Why dont you go skull fuck yourself, Porky?
I'd written a few a week or so ago, here
Here are some others, by a few other bloggers....
1, 2, 3.
Here is mine for this week:
She moved a strand of hair out of his face. His eyes suddenly had a light in them that wasnt there before. She traced the outline of his lips, then brushed them lightly. I guess this is as good as it gets, she thought to herself.
Sighing, she closed Photoshop and gathered her things together.
(more on trilia.net)
Hemingway style flash fiction:
Ad reads: Wife wanted. Males only.
In morgue, body moving. Send help!
Across table. Husband drunk. Heart sinks.
Headstone, looming. As seen. From Below.
Wrinked face. Thinning hair. Mirror upstairs (Dorian Gray version).
Anna asks. We write. Friday afternoon :)
That should be portrait upstairs, right?
this is fantastic! :D surely, agents will be descending on our NDHQ, begging us for your contact info, so that they can rep you and your ridiculous talent.
i love it. all this creativity in one thread. it's YUMMY.
:+:
dj isabella,
i'm so proud of you. :)
heart,
your best girl in berkeley
I have read your 55 Fiction Fridays sometimes. The sari one, I had read it a while ago. It is crisp........
She ran home hurriedly, damp between her legs. Her parents would be waiting for her. She grabbed the signs she had placed by the door and jumped into the familys Truth Truck headed for the neighbourhood clinic.
She wondered: will the physician inside see me? And will he wonder why I came back so soon?
Her teacher pulled her aside and explained that because she didnt believe that the small biscuit between the priests thumb and forefinger was the Body of the Savior, she couldnt have a nibble. In actuality, she hadnt eaten breakfast that morning and it was hours before lunch. She wished she could have one to satiate her hunger.
HA hah ha ha ha!
ohhh God I can't stop. Make it stop. Here's another:
The grasslands in Mara stretched uninterrupted, not a single bush behind which I could empty my stretched-to-full bladder. The bumps in the road didnt help much either. Finally I had to go. Behind the car, passengers eyes diverted politely.
A lioness watched patiently across the brush, thinking to herself, Ahh Tourists! The other white meat.
In the summer afternoon quiet, he helped the Ashramites collect the white cotton towels drying on the line. Bathing with his clothes on today, out on the mossy stones next to the well, with the rest, he had missed being perfectly naked in her tub with the door closed to the world outside, with her.
It was like magic. As their eyes locked momentarily across the crowd, he felt an eternal bliss, an unqualified peace wash over him. His hands tingled two or three times, as he heard two gentle words clear above the din.
The words echoed in his head for what seemed like an eternity Hey Ram.
Damn. Chilling.
The backdoor to the secret bunker was propped open so that his accomplice could gain easy access during the night. Together they would mutiny against the Mutiny.
Locked in cages and powerless he would taunt them mercilessly, even as he took control and used what they had built together to carry out his hidden agenda.
Note to 'A runner'. You're singing my life with your words. Good one!
Transported back to 1951, the thought of making money by betting on cricket matches yet to happen was for some strange reason furthest from my mind, which should give you a sense of just how at home I felt with the whole affair. But then: I wish shed married either Kabir or Amit. . .
Actually, he said but then he always began sentences that way its really not like that at all, and proceeded to explain, but his words, slippery and articulated with an ease that suggested he liked talking, came to mean something quite different. Her eyes glanced at the screen, and she knew he had seen her.
yay! I love Fast Fiction Fridays at the Mutiny. Can we do it again next week?
Ok, I'm joining in .. my very first attempt -
At the end of this last round, their two souls would join as one. Her hometown Gurdwara was filled with love - a mother's tear, a sister's smile, a father's pride.
She took small steps, with the palla clutched tightly in her beautifully decorated hands, and finally allowed the tears to flow from her tired eyes.
Interesting design, he thought admiring the ill-lit spiral stairwells. You go up on one, and come down on the other. How else could you control the continuous traffic? Conserving space, while being a relatively easy climb. Brilliant!
But it creaked.
creak, crick, creak, ..
Crick! Geez! Wake up, motherf***er!
Yawwwwwwwwn! Watson, how about a double-helix?
I run into her three years later, "We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year..". Damn it, does our life have to be like a Pink Flyod song.
Kush, that was only 33 words. I am banning you right now.
Arranged Marriage
She sat demurely on the bed, awaiting her new husband. In preparation her skin had been plucked and waxed, caked and powdered. And bleached. As he lifted her sari, he gasped at the ghostly face before him.
And to think his mom brought him here because she didnt want him to marry a white girl.
Oh fine, you've finally coerced me into it. But I'm not making any promises. :)
It couldnt have been a worse day. Today makes me wish Id fall down a manhole or something, so I could quit trying to salvage it. From the minute I was ejected out of bed, Ive been fantasizing about coming home and hiding in the couch.
Fuzzy green.
Shit, I cant even have grilled cheese?
Something desi :
He was looking out the window as he mumbled about tough times and change.
Was it ten days or fifteen before I become illegal ? I couldn't remember.
Priya knew she’d have company again tonight, as she finished her tequila and strained to hear her next one-night-stand over the noise of the club.
Her soulmate’s voice flashed in her mind but she blocked it; Dad’s refusing to say Yes, anyway...
“Live for today”, she thought, and for a moment she almost believed it.
55 words for Fiction Friday, dead on. Ban waiver requested. Here:
I run into her three years later, "We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year Damn it, does our life have to be like a Pink Floyd song?
.,running over the same old ground. What have we found? Punish me? You look beautiful, now stab me, please. How I wish?
He looked admiringly at Saurabh, sleeping peacefully a few feet from him. His son always had been his biggest pride.
He still recalled when Saurabh won his first school medal. Dad, do you want more?
Kalia Saab , he felt brigadier squeeze his arm.
Rest now, my son, he thought, as he lit the pyre.
I brought him up to be the man I wish I had married, she thought smiling. Sadly.
Though he tried to give them hope (idealism) past shortcomings of the world, he wasnt surprised that of all his sweathogs, only Barbarinos chiseled jaw, and wicked-ass dance numbers moved him to fame, fortune and . scientology. He wished he had taught they must labour to be beautiful.
Saddened, he thought, it should have been Horshack.
oh and
For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.
isn't a story. It's a hundred stories.
*swoon*
Paranoid Android - you're so good you scare me.
My one above was my first btw. But this whole thread is really inspirational.
Hawt.
I'm addicted to reading these, guys. I was even inspired to write one all by meself. Good stuff!
The three Asians crowded
to one side of the stage.
Everything smelled like shit.
Someones cellphone
rang in the audience.
The two Jews
in their tattered clothes
looked confused.
The Asians shuffled closer.
One by one they knelt down
and held out labelled
paper bags and said,
We have seen his star in the East.
If there's anyone from whom I would have expected this it would have been my brother, she thought, staring in shock at her blood freshly splattered on the wall above her bed.
There they sat staring at eachother. Never have they seen eachother the way they intend to. They had lived two separate lives in two different worlds. She had never imagined this time and he had never planned it. The girl never expected the guy who she has seen clean gutters to be a father.
Does anyone else think "Who writes short-shorts?" would have been a better name for this post?
June in Delhi. Sweltering heat in Chandini Chowk.
Bhai Saheb, Is there a public lavatory nearby?
This way, Sir. Twenty step next to the pan shop
Shukria jeee.
Half running, half walking. What the hell is this? What didnt I think when I left home.
Scooter Rickshaw, Janpath Road, please.
No meter. 200 Rupees.
Yes.
Nope. Stop second guessing the title and start writing your short (or reading or commenting upon the shorts).
How do you want it, long or short?
Those are the only options shell ever give.
As long its a forgery, I cant afford the real thing, is what I tell her.
Thats the only beauty here, in this small town, the hairdresser, who goes about her work without ever looking me in the eyes.
Alex,
it's a play off the old Nair tv spots, which were based on the *very* old Royal Teens song...
thus, I have no problem with a double-whammy reference. Gold star for Anna :)
Luke hung onto the pylon, the wind howling around him.
“Obi Wan never told you about your real father”, growled Vader.
“I know what happened”, shouted Luke. “You killed him !”
“Yes”, said Vader. “Because Obi Wan was your father.”
Luke tried to remember the stories of the prequels, and thought, Damn.....That does explain everything.
Touché...I thought I missed something.
Alex,
If it'll make you feel any better, I thought it was a reference to the "We like short-shorts !" gag from The Simpsons....
Jai - loved the Star Wars short!!
As the seconds hand slowly, yet certainly, went creeking around her twenty-dollar Target watch, she peered into the wasteland of another week gone by - and wondered why time flies like an arrow.
"Ah yes, I know," she said, "as fruit flies like a banana."
Hit the gas, engine screams. Wishing it was just a dream. Watch the highway lines move in heartbeat time.
Can't take back what was said. Can't believe everything that youve read. Can't undo what has been done.
What they got, they deserved. Right the wrong, Justice served. They never saw you reach for the gun.
He was being hurtled through the long corridor. The lights turned on, off, on, off. The ceiling alternated between darkness and a blue tinge that he found haunting. How he wished he had listened to her, he thought as they turned into the room. 6 gunshot wounds. The nurses looked down at him with compassion.
Umair, I would have reacted like SuitableGirl to your Suitable Boy reference too. But then, men don't do that.
And, thank you Ang.
He hadn't seen her in so long, he couldn't wait to hold her. The door creaked open, he stiffened, his heart racing. He saw her move softly in the cold air. When she saw him by the dumpster she screamed in terror. The door slammed shut and the alleyway was plunged into darkness again.
Space. What a cold empty word. She didnt actually want to talk to him, she wanted to not be not talking to him, if that made any sense. The denial and uncertainty that came with it drove her crazy. My love is as constant as the Northern Star, she said, why was his so fickle?
ohh, SMR. Your love life sucks!!!
(j/k!! j/k!! I couldn't resist. sorry!)
Puppy, she called him, because of his constant need for affection and his playful nature. But now she was busy, and had no time to even throw him a bone.
Shilpa -- Thanks for the compliment.
My last one for today:
Raj hesitated in the hallway. Five years since they’d last met.
Natasha stared at him, amused at his inability to maintain eye-contact; left hand resting on her hip, skirt stretched tight.
Dammit, thought Raj, and stepped forward, closing the door behind him. Natasha inclined her head, and smiled slowly, broadly, as her wedding ring glinted.
This is very interesting stuff to come home and read. Chiefly because of what one can learn about the Sepia clientele. Jai go to the bottom of the class for getting Star Wars dialogue wrong. Paranoid Android - amazing stuff. OK now for my attempt...
If you like these stories, there are some more here, (scroll down to the creative writing section.) My favorite story is by Sunil Laxman.
Not yet!
His lungs drowned with each scream. Soon he felt his head being sucked under. Kicking and punching, he refused to go quietly, youre not taking me without a fight!
Too late. His time had come. After what seemed like an eternity of darkness, finally he was cold.
Its a boy! shrieked the midwife.
anna,
i first heard of 55 from your entry about this and it inspired my first effort.
and then came another and today: another!
i like this enough to have a whole category for it.
-prash.
The subway lurched to a stop, the voice on the speaker inaudible as usual. Sams head bobbed, and then jerked, a moment of panic. Did she miss her stop? No, it was safe, she could keep sleeping for ten minutes more. Eyelids fluttered, she dreamt of 55 word stories.
Feed a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he will be out of your hair for weekends on end.
At least, thats what my mom used to say with a smile every time my father stepped out the door, tackle box in hand.
He recalled the moonless night when the goddess came to him with her alabaster skin, and recalled her pride and his longing, her every touch an honor. He turned to look at the burning city behind him. On the road, now strewn with ash and charred bodies, he felt his son grow tired under him.
Buy one, get one free
She cried aloud,
'Threes such a crowd,
let's call this group-date quits !!
That brazen guy,
that rascal sly
is staring at my bits!!'
'When?' says Ma,
'This Boy's a star !
'The Boy ?' She says 'Oh rather,
I speak not of him,
I'm not so prim
I speak of his dear Father'
All this stuff blows me away!
And Sepia, great job. Have been a great fan of the Website since I chanced upon it, while researching for an article.
It was on Desi kids and the concept of spelling bees. I felt strangely compelled to write the story, and your Website provided an interesting anti-bee viewpoint.
Ok, mine's lame, but I wanted to join the party:
OK, almost done. Better?
F T O M Z became a smudge.
Or worse?
Worse.
Ok. Well, your right eye is 20/125, but your left eye is actually 15/20.
For a moment he wondered if he could be the guy that singlehandedly brought back the monocle, but ultimately, he went with the wire-rimmed Kenneth Coles.
Thank you for making my afternoon!
PS I would second making "Flash Fiction Fridays" a weekly event!
When I arrived here, she was far past the midnight of her birth.Shed done it all these 33 years into ripe maturity. - teenage idealism, torrential adolescent squabbles with her siblings, romances with revolutionaries. Like her, we mid-lifes children learnt the value of a stable bank balance and grew too wary to fall in love.
He was reminded of why he attended writer's workshops in random people's houses.
In the midst of belabored descriptions of the view from one's window, through yawn-inducing recollections of dates gone horribly wrong, there would appear one or two bright polished gems of prose.
A feeling, a captured moment, crystallized and distilled into pure poetry.
I explained the diagnosis, the off-handed way it was issued, how three other women at my office had heard the same thing, how statistically impossible it was, how the drugs turned people into zombies.
You should take the meds anyway, he said. To help us.
He wanted me to be unupsettable. Ass.
We were through.
From my favorite Poet.......
All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love
No hands to left or right
And emptiness above
Know that the whole world
shares your tears....
Some for two nights or one
Some for all their years.
Skater-Boi that might be fun, he said to the self in the mirror, busy brushing teeth. Vans, wallet-chain, floppy haircut-
Ok... 60s mod? Vespa, skinny tie, leggy blonde girlfriend, bangs
Plaid Carhartt carpenter? Mohawk'd punk?
Eh, it didn't matter. Nuanihal shrugged as he re-wrapped his turban, tied on his shoes, and walked out the door.
Time for the WAR ON TERROR!
Asif surveyed the interrogation room as Detective Francis of Scotland Yards anti-terrorism squad bumbled in. Francis was searching in his case, Sorry, I seem to have misplaced my list of secret Al Qaeda officials.
Asif spoke up, oh its okay, Ive got one and pulled a piece of paper out from his sock.
A ha! Gotcha!
Lastly, one more on the blog, that I thought was a bit too messed up to put on SM.
They announced the road was closed until dawn. The merchant ladies barely complained. They spread shawls on the pavement and within minutes several were snoring.
The drivers assistant wandered off to get high with a teenage soldier.
I let a man sell me tepid beer and chicken kebabs. The war wasnt starting tonight, maybe ever.
we're SO doing this next week.
Right on, Anna! Had fun reading all the posts today fitty-five crew!
Anna, what a fun excercise!...I had to do one too!
I knew the moment was perfect. The flowers and tulle intertwined with lights created a wistful scene. Adoring faces crooned their necks to catch a glimpse of beauty, while a man with adoring eyes waited to begin his future. The string quartet struck the first note, and I stepped aside, giving the bride her cue.
Got an email titled "World's Shortest and Best Fairy Tale". I had to add a few words to make it 55 long.
Bed time son!
No Papa, tell me another story!
No time!
A real short one please?
Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl "Will you marry me?" The girl said, "NO!" And the guy lived happily ever after and went fishing and hunting a lot and drank beer whenever he wanted. THE END
Sex changes things, his mother had warned him. Balderdash! he responded at the time. But she had been right, and now his heart was broken.
He resolved to arrange his marriage next week with a girl from India, whose honour was pure and unblemished. No more white girls for him.
Both the marriage and the wedding were designed to please everyone but her.
Their families eagerly watched the pundit read the prayers.
She was a dutiful daughter and would do what her family wanted.
Secretly, she plotted to make her husbands life as hellish as hers had always been.
Distasteful!
A writer's resignation
Fingers move deftly across the dirtied pavement of the keyboard, cli-cli-cli-cli-clicking ad nauseum, until at last they pause.
The inner voice urges them onwards, without mind, though there had never been anything left to say in the first place.
When will I say "amen"?
Life's Too Far From Brooklyn
Chicago! Land of glorious lights, of elevated trains, of Sandburg's poems and Sandberg's double plays, of daytime games and shirtless fans, and circular myths that may never go away--Chicago!
Chicago, if only you weren't so far away-- if you were on the C, I might come Saturday.
Everything Comes In Threes at about 2 a.m.
Are the words of the sufis worth anything?
"Nay!" I say.
There is nothing in the world worth anything except a good Beatle's lyric and a fresh cup of coffee in the morning.
And I don't drink coffee.
Kush quotes Floyd. Abhi says, I am banning you right now.
And he didn't even quote M.I.A. ;)
Times New Roman or Ariel?
She played a little more with the font, trying to decide which one was less aggressive, less cold and unforgiving. Castellar was too pretentious, Comic Sans too lively.
She switched off the computer and wrote the leaving note by hand. At least he could remember her by something real.
He let out a sigh as he walked to the corner with the bottle of wine he'd bought and hailed a cab. He was headed to that party with the lawyer who painted he'd seen a month ago.
He knew that guy could have broken his nose in one punch, and he shook his head
All that stood between Simone and her honeymoon was a report submission.
He is never on time! she fumed, as the office clock ticked 8:45 AM. She could almost see the single-engine plane they were flying to Hawaii. She gazed at infinity in clear NY sky, to divert her mind.
Isnt that plane flying too low?
Bong Breaker,
I deliberately tweaked the original dialogue to make it fit my version. Go sit in the corner and write a 3000-word essay on why Jai shouldn't be at the bottom of the class.
Greetings to you. I will share this story with you and hope that it brings you one step closer to your Self.
Swami A
seductionsalvation.blogspot.com
Ten patrons wait outside, hoping they will be allowed inside. They are wearing impeccable white dhotis, tied in the traditional manner; last week, a man used a belt to hold up the cloth. He was asked to leave, even though he explained that as an amputee he should be allowed some concession.
(this week)
see you...next week?