Time for a hippy story

One time, I was staying at a house full of hippies, and I felt like a good stew so I went to the supermarket and bought enough for everyone who would be there, and borrowed whatever spices and things I thought would suit the stew. Unlike the stews I make these days it had no thick sauce type stuff, These days I add eggs, bumer and tomato sauce, maybe some milk and whatever else comes to mind, it all mixes with the juices, it creates a great effect. So then the woman who owned the house came home with a friend, and politely asked if they could have some. In the conversation that followed, she revealed that after living there for 7 or 8 years she’d never once came home to a cooked dinner. She rented out rooms, and let her druggie son Tai who has the same dad as me live there for free, constantly escaped bankruptcy through amazing luck, skill, perseverance, courage, and sheer genius, but never did those who lived with her allow her to come home to cooked food.

She’s surprisingly happy, considering everything that’s happened in her life. I remember her health, physical appearance, mood, hygiene, financial situation, and damn near every part of her experience and being improve dramatically when Tai moved into his own flat, but then he came back… Still, the positive affects of his absence still live on to this day.