Around 5 year old boy and his parents came to a village where only one train runs per hour.Because of the timetable trouble, the train stopped there for about 3 minutes.The father left his wife and the child on the train, and started taking photos at the platform.Then the child started crying and said “Daddy will be left there!” as he thought the train would depart soon.No matter what the mother said to calm him down, he didn’t stop crying.“Daddy! Get on the train now! No, don’t stay there alone! Daddy!!”People in the train were looking at the boy, talking about him like “he’s such a gentle kid”It was such a heart-warming scene.
The father was left behind in the platform.
To make time stand still—what sand mandalas are to Buddhist monks and embroidery is to Irene Casey—eating pussy was to Rant. He used to wedge his face between my legs and slip his tongue into me. He’d come up on his elbows, smacking his lips, his chin dripping, and Rant would say, “You ate something with cinnamon for breakfast…” He’d lick his lips and roll his eyes, saying, “Not French toast…something else.” Rant would snort and gobble, then come up with his eyes shining, saying, “For breakfast, you drank a cup of Constant Comment tea. That’s the cinnamon.”
From just the smell and taste of me, he’d nail my whole day: tea, whole-wheat toast without butter, plain yogurt, blueberries, a tempeh sandwich, one avocado, a glass of orange juice, and a beet salad.
“And you had an order of fast-food onion rings,” he’d say, and smack his lips. “A large order.”
I called him “the Pussy Psychic.”” —Chuck Palahniuk, Rant (via zoetica)