IN THE AFTERNOON DISCUSSIONS WITH LG ABOUT WHAT TO EAT AT NIGHT, SUDDENLY REFERRING TO WHEAT HUNGER, IT WAS DECIDED TO MAKE ITS OWN FOOD AT NIGHT, AS SOON AS I HEARD THE NAME AND FELT LIKE IT WAS TOO LONG GONE. OUR WHEAT HUNGER IS THE CREEPS THAT WE USED TO EAT WHEN WE WERE KIDS, WHITE AND THICK, WITH EGGS AND GOURDS, WHICH ARE NOT SOFT, BUT RATHER RESILIENT, COMPARED TO Q. AFTER A FEW BITES, DRINK A LITTLE SOUP AND REMEMBER THE SMELL OF THE CREEPS THAT DAD MADE HIMSELF WHEN HE WAS A CHILD, THE LIGHTNESS, THE SKIN OF THE SHRIMP, THE SMELL. THE TWO OF US WERE LOOKING AT THE MATERIALS, BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN WE HAD TO DO IT, AND DAD AND WE WERE CLOSE, SO WE PUT THE MATERIAL IN. DAD SAID HE'D COOK FOR US, AND THEN I THOUGHT FATHER'S DAY WOULDN'T BE A BIG CELEBRATION FOR HIM, SO WHY DON'T WE COOK FOR HIM? IF DAD DOESN'T DRINK, I'LL TREAT HIM AS AN OLD MAN! FINALLY, AT DAD'S INSTRUCTION, WE WORKED SO HARD TO GET HIM TO EAT OUR PLUMME. IT'S NOT GOOD TO SELL A PICTURE, BUT IT TASTES GOOD
