My grandfather had this pot- more like a treasure box-in which he stored his various assortments of chewing tobaccos, sugar (saunf), clovers, spices and betel leafs. That box, made of silver, had a compartment in it where a wet cloth used to cover the betel leafs so that they may stay fresh. He used to eat a lot of pan. He used to smoke a lot before that… He lived to be  ninety. He died in 2016. I loved that old man a lot.

I was going to make a point about how my constant train of thoughts serves as the wet cloth that keeps my writing fresh, but I don’t want to make that point anymore. My granddad’s dead. I’m listening to Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap and…. well fuck you 2016 for taking so many awesome people with you. I hope they’re all in a better place.