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Message: <blockquote data-quote="asbestos" data-source="post: 29072653" data-attributes="member: 580546">[ATTACH=full]211157[/ATTACH]my mother, father and Iwalked to the marketonce a weekfor our government relief food:cans of beans, cans ofweenies, cans of hash,some potatoes, someeggs.we carried the suppliesin large shoppingbags. and as we left the marketwe always stoppedoutsidewhere there was a largewindowwhere we could see thebakerskneadingthe flour into thedough.there were 5 bakers,large young menand they stood at5 large wooden tablesworking very hard,not looking up.they flipped the dough inthe airand all the sizes anddesigns weredifferent. we were always hungryand the sight of the menworking the dough,flipping it in theair was a wondroussight, indeed.but then, it would come timeto leaveand we would walk awaycarrying our heavyshopping bags. “those men have jobs,”my father would say.he said it each time.every time we watchedthe bakers he would saythat. “I think I’ve found a new wayto make the hash,”my mother would sayeach time.or sometimes it wasthe weenies.we ate the eggs alldifferent ways:fried, poached, boiled.one of our favorites was poached eggs on hash.but that favorite finallybecame almost impossibleto eat.and the potatoes, we friedthem, baked them, boiledthem.but the potatoes had a wayof not becoming as tiresomeas the hash, the eggs, thebeans.one day, arriving home,we placed all our foodstuffson the kitchen counter andstared at them.then we turned away. “I’m going to hold up abank!” my father suddenlysaid. “oh no, Henry, please!”said my mother,“please don’t!” “we’re going to eat somesteak, we’re going to eatsteaks until they come outof our ears!” “but Henry, you don’t have a gun!” “I’ll hold something in mycoat, I’ll pretend it’s a gun!” “I’ve got a water pistol,”I said, “you can use that.” my father looked at me.“you,” he said, “SHUT UP!” I walked outside.I sat on the back steps.I could hear them in theretalking but I couldn’t quite make itout. then I could hear them again, it waslouder. “I’ll find a new way to cook everything!”my mother said. “I’m going to rob a goddamnedbank!” my father said. “Henry, please, please don’t!”I heard my mother. I got up from the steps.walked away into theafternoon.C. Bukowski, The Pleasures of the Damned (Poems, 1951 - 1993)</blockquote>

Verification: Nawa warak dahaya keeyada? (Namaya wadi kireema dahaya)

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