She was content with
that but for her husband it intensified his yearning for better things.
And so it was with his brothers: they thought about how their dreams
could be effectuated with a bit of the senator's savings. Jatupon did
not adhere to this disingenuous wish for a family reunion and so
trapped in a moving box with brothers who had one converging theme that
was not his own, he felt like an unemployed laborer returning back on
the poor man's train even though he was riding in a limousine.
The recurring idea that the aunt and the uncle had not gone to the
funeral made him even increasingly repellent toward this meeting with
the senator. He halfway wanted to jump out of the door and let a
physics lesson ensue. Would he just drop or would he be thrust out
like a projectile. Would his blood ooze out or would it disgorge like
the insides of a tossed pumpkin? He looked out of the window at the
quick passing of buildings and then up to the billowing clouds. They
were gas with distinct and individual form. They were energy that was
distended and fomenting. How mysterious it all was. When one was
cremated he would be such gas.
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