W. searches goes through my rucksack. A packet of corn nuts, and a packet of peanuts. Two packets of pork scratchings. And some obscure Indian snacks, sent over by my relatives. – 'Do you think you brought enough snacks?', W. asks.
W. loves to watch me filling my face, he says. He loves to watch me gratify myself. There's something innocent in it. Something charming.
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