Eating Indian Food

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From the tone of my voice she was in no doubt that if she didn't I would pull down her panties and see for myself. Slowly she ran her hand up the front of that tiny purple skirt and as deftly as she had put it there, pulled out a couple of notes from inside those cerise-pink delicacies.‘I didn't do it for me,’ she offered by way of explanation, her voice wavering and obviously close to tears. ‘I did it for you,’ she added.My confused look was obvious to her and I didn't need to say anything. ‘I know you fancy me,’ she spluttered. ‘I've seen you looking up my skirt when I go to make coffee so I thought I would give you a treat.’ She forced a pouty smile and then said, ‘you do like me, don't you?’I didn't smile back. ‘It's not just money for new knickers though is it?’ I looked her up and down. ‘I've been paying for a whole new set of clothes and shoes.’Her confidence in her feminine whiles grew and she smiled again. ‘I thought you liked me to look pretty for you.’ She stepped forward a. The chicken is psychic or something. She must be able to fucking smell daylight.As he was standing there warming himself, Gertrude stumbled off her nest to stand madly flapping her wings. He supposed it was something like a human stretching in the mornings. When she was done with her routine, she squawked out, “Peeccckkkak. Peeccckkkak,” loudly enough to wake the dead.“It’s not daylight yet, you feathered monster,” Morales groused. “Go back to bed, or nest, or whatever the fuck you call it. I had to get up because the fire had gone out and I was freezing my ass off. What’s your excuse?”Gertrude, now joined by the other hens, looked at him, turning her head from side to side as she seemed to scrutinize what he had said before she and all the chickens started toward him.“Ah, fuck it,” he grumbled, knowing that the chickens wouldn’t give up until he fed them. The day had started whether he liked it or not.The RetreatWhen Jeff tried to slip out of bed at 4:00 A.M. to go for his run, even.
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It was almost dusk on the third day since he had set foot on the Land of God. It was once more time for prayer. He laid down his small sack and took off his cloak, setting it down in front of him. He then knelt on it and closed his eyes while his arms rested on his legs, the palms of his hands touching his knees. He then started bowing down low with his forehead touching the Path every time. Whispered words of reverence came out of his mouth in the tongue of God which they no longer used, but kept handing it down as holy passages, from mouth to mouth, generation to generation.Though he could not understand what the words were saying, he could feel their perfection rippling through the air. Holy words spoken in the Land of God felt like a river mingling with the sea. It was as if a small trickle of divinity flowed through the essence of God made manifest; the air, earth and water resonating with godly purpose and sacrosanct silence.Hence His words, the Holy Mantra, which should be told.

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