A person who worked with me liked everything with tomato sauce. He would even eat curd rice with ketchup. Another person I know loves pillows, as if the bed is a nest and the pillows feather stacks to cushion from every side. One loves to pick her nose when no one’s watching and make little pellets of snot. One dislikes conversation when drinking tea. One writes poems to people who are dead. Such details will never make boldface headlines in newspapers. And as most conversations and material around, necessarily, focus on those headlines, one of my constant quests is for such whimsy.
Person, place, thing
Person, place, thing
Person, place, thing
A person who worked with me liked everything with tomato sauce. He would even eat curd rice with ketchup. Another person I know loves pillows, as if the bed is a nest and the pillows feather stacks to cushion from every side. One loves to pick her nose when no one’s watching and make little pellets of snot. One dislikes conversation when drinking tea. One writes poems to people who are dead. Such details will never make boldface headlines in newspapers. And as most conversations and material around, necessarily, focus on those headlines, one of my constant quests is for such whimsy.