"Mom, I don't want to eat this." said the little boy in a taciturn voice.
He crossed his arms and looked away from his exasperated mother. She held her hand over her eyes in attempt to be imperturbable. "You're father works in the fields all day tending to cattle and sheep to get you this food for your satiety!" she says as she grabbed a spoonful or dirty slope and grabs the struggling child, "I'm sick of your deportment." The boy kicks and squirms with duress with the eyes of a upset animal. He breaks free. "I'm not eating that!" screamed the boy and sprinted out of the house. The mother could only make out shades of cerulean of his brightly colored shirt from the window. She saw him run though a symposium. She chased after him. The mother scanned the crowd of jaunty people schmoozing and their periphrasis. There was no blue. The mother realized how exigent her situation was.
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November 2018
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