Chapter 37 attack bakery

Anyway we should be starving.No, it's not that I'm hungry, it's like swallowing the void of the universe.At first it was actually a small, small void like the hole in the middle of a donut, but as the days passed, it multiplied in our bodies until it became a bottomless nothingness.Become a majestic behind-the-scenes music-like fasting pyramid. Why do you feel hungry?From lack of food, of course.Why is there a lack of food?Because there is no equivalent equivalent exchange?This is probably because our imagination is not enough.No, the feeling of hunger may actually be caused by a lack of imagination.Say whatever you want.

God, Max, John.Lannon is dead.In short, we are in a state of hunger, and the result is that we have bad thoughts. It is not the feeling of empty stomach that makes us have bad thoughts, but bad thoughts that make us go to extremes because of the feeling of fasting.Although it is not very clear, it is like existentialism. "Oh, I'm going downhill," said the companion.Simply put, that's what he meant. No wonder, we drank only water for two whole days, and once ate sunflower leaves, but we really didn't want to eat any more. So we go to the bakery with kitchen knife in hand.The bakery is in the middle of the shopping street, and there are quilt shops and stationery shops on both sides.The owner of the bakery was a balding communist in his fifties.

We walked from the shopping street to the bakery calmly with kitchen knives in hand, feeling like "in the middle of the day".As I walked, I gradually smelled the aroma of baking bread.And the stronger the smell of bread, the deeper our inclination toward evil.The attack on bread and the attack on the communists made us excited. Doing the two things at the same time, I felt a kind of movement like the Nazi Youth League in my heart. It was getting late in the afternoon, and there was only one customer in the bakery, a middle-aged Obasan who was not very smart and was carrying an old shopping bag.There is a dangerous atmosphere around Obasan.The planned crimes of the perpetrators are often screwed up by the unrefined Obasan, and crimes on TV are always like this.I gave my partner a look to signal that Obasan should not do anything until he left the bakery.I hid the kitchen knife behind my back and pretended to be shopping for bread.

Obasan was slow to pick out bread. Like a wardrobe and a three-way mirror, she carefully placed the deep-fried pastry bread and jam-filled bread on the shallow plate.But she didn't pay the bill right away. Fried puff pastry and jam bread were a topic for her.Or the far North Pole, she must be given some time to adapt. As time went by, bread with jam first slipped from the status of topic.Why did I choose jam bread? She shook her head, it shouldn't be because it's too sweet. She put the jam loaf back on its shelf, thought for a moment, and gently sandwiched two croissants onto the platter.A new topic was born.The iceberg is slightly dewed, and the spring sun shines through the clouds.

"She hasn't chosen yet?" my partner whispered, "Don't even let the old woman go." "Wait!" I stopped him. The bakery owner ignored us and was absorbed in listening to Wagner's music on cassette tapes in the radio. Whether the Communists listened to Wagner correctly, I do not know. Obasan was still staring at the croissants and fried pastry bread in a daze.It felt a little weird, unnatural. Croissants and puff pastry don't seem to line up at all.She looked as if she sensed that the two had opposite thoughts.Like a refrigerator with a malfunctioning cooling mechanism, the tray with bread creaked and shook in her hands.Of course it's not really shaking, it's completely metaphorical -- shaking.Crunch crunch.

"Get rid of it!" said the partner.The hunger and the tension exuded by Wagner and Obasan made him as sensitive as peach hair.I shook my head silently. Obasan, still holding the platter, is wandering in Dostoevsky's hell.Fried puff pastry was the first to stand on the podium and deliver a moving speech to the citizens of Rome.Beautiful diction, beautiful eloquence, and a rich baritone. ． ． ． ． ．Everyone applauded.Next the croissant stands on the podium and gives some sort of incoherent speech about traffic signals.Cars turning left have to look at the green light signal in front of them and go straight ahead, and then turn left after confirming whether there is an oncoming car. Although the Roman citizens don’t know much about such speeches, they feel that it is inherently difficult to understand, and they applaud.The croissant got slightly more applause.So the fried puff pastry returned to its original shelf.

Obasan's shallow plate of very simple complete wall visits - two croissants. So Obasan walked out of the shop. Now it's our turn. "We're hungry," I confessed to my boss.The kitchen knife is still hidden behind it. "And penniless." "Really?" The boss nodded. There was a nail clipper on the counter, and we both stared at it.That huge nail clipper could almost be used to clip a vulture's talons, presumably built as a joke. "Since you are so hungry, eat bread!" said the boss. "But we have no money." "I heard it just now." The boss said feeling bored. "No money, you can eat whatever you want."

I'll take another look at the nail clippers. "However, we have embarked on an evil path." "Uh-huh." "So we don't accept handouts from others." "Ok." "Is such that." "Really?" The boss nodded again. "So be it, then. Eat your bread as you please. But let me curse you, shall I?" "Curse? What kind of curse?" "Curses are always inaccurate, but not the same as the bus schedule." "Hey, wait a minute!" The partner interjected. "I don't want to be cursed. Just kill you."

"Wait a minute." The boss said, "I don't want to be killed." "I don't want to be cursed," said the companion. "However, what can be used as an exchange." I said. We looked at the nail clippers in silence. "How?" said the boss, "Do you like Wagner's music?" "No." I said. "I don't like it," said the partner. "Bread if you like." This remark seemed to be said by a missionary from the Dark Continent, but I immediately agreed.At least much better than being cursed. "Like it." I said.

"I like it," said the partner. So we listened to Wagner and ate bread to fill our stomachs. "This opera 'Tristan and Isot', which is brilliant in the history of music, was published in 1859 and is an indispensable and important work for understanding Wagner in the later period." The boss read the commentary. "uh-huh." "Ooh." "King Kangur's nephew, Tristan, took his uncle's place to marry the betrothed Princess Isot, but on the way home Tristan and Issod fell in love on the boat. The beautiful theme played by the cello and oboe at the beginning is the two A personal melody of love."

After two hours, we bid each other a satisfied farewell. "Come and listen to 'Tannhauser' (Wagner's famous opera Tannhauser) tomorrow," said the boss. Back home, the sense of emptiness in our hearts has completely disappeared, and the imagination has become active like rolling down a slow slope.