There is nothing like a burning hunger.
It drove us to risk a terrible beating, if we were ever found out, when our folk got home.
Hunger is a drive that has no shame. It distinguishes neither one from the other.
Sometimes, at the end of a long dusty day of play, we were so hungry. We watched wistfully as Synthia, our teen-aged neighbor washed dishes outside, by her family's pickup truck.
She cleaned her pots and tossed the scrapings(*bun-bun) to wild birds. Until she started giving it to us. We usually ate it, as she did dinner dishes after her parents left for their evening walk.
*Bun-bun was burnt-on scrapings from her pots that were soaking as she cleaned her dishes. Sometimes, she would scrape the burned on rice from inside the bottom of the pot with her hands and give it to us. We gladly ate it, because hunger made it delicious.
What she demanded of us in return for the bun-bun, was......
Synthia's demands will be declared in my upcoming book.
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