Jack is a fruit

We love the fragrance of its entrails when it is brought down and ripped open for table, under its thorny skin.When fatso was sitting pretty on a bark , we had it put in thin veils to stall bad eyes falling on its beauty.

Its hardened seeds play like marbles on a road in street children’s holes. The kids ,when done with their play stuff them in their burning wood fires made in three stones, in smoke that burnt their eyes so deliciously.Seeds would taste nice and smoky.

Before death on our standing knife it gave such a fine feeling to fingers .What a lovely touch ! What comfort! Death was fragrant and memorable.


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