SAD BOATS
He has a bun in his pocket, did you see it?
A bun. A bun, a raisin bun, yummy, yummy, thin, orange, crusty. You are standing near the shop, your whole palm wrapped around your mother’s index finger, which smells of chlorine and onions. The shop is bigger than the city. You lean your head back. You look at the saleslady’s flour-covered breasts. You feel the hair caressing your skin…
That fiend has not yet eaten the bun…
Not bun that yet eaten fiend…
You have not noticed that the teacher has been standing next to you for a long time and is moving her jaw irregularly and in sync with yours. You timidly stuff the bun in your pocket, quickly wipe your mouth, and say sorry. You always feel like someone is looking over your shoulder when you eat a bun, which is why you always eat i
