Thursday, March 6, 2014

100 Words a Day 568 La Pintura Negra 11/15

“I never liked soup much when I had my teeth,” one of the old men remarked to no one in particular.

“That’s funny,” the other man said with a skeletal chuckle, “I never liked color as much as I do now that I can’t see anything.”

The first man ignored the second. “Is there any more soup?” he asked himself, hobbling over to the fire and peering into the pot.

“How should I know? You do the cooking. I can’t see anything.” The second man replied, his irritation evident in his voice.

“Looks like there’s just enough for another bowl.”

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