Last week, my friend asked me to go to his hometown with him. I was very excited and wanted to see the scenery allowed by my parents. I planned to play for a week.
I felt free to leave home and do what I wanted to do. I picked up fruit and caught fish in the clear river. It was too interesting for me, but when I saw my friend talking happily to his grandparents I started to miss my parents, I missed the food my mother made and the way she complained, so when I got home, I was happy and grew up.
When I got home, the first time I heard this story was a girl I met in Greenwich Village, New York a few years ago. Maybe this story is the kind of mysterious folklore that appears every few years, telling a new story in one form or another. However, I still think that it does happen somewhere, and sometimes they go to Fort Lauderdale - three boys and three girls - and when they get on the bus, they have sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of a golden beach.
As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo sitting in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill fitting suit, motionless, his dusty face obscuring his age, chewing on the inside of his lips, frozen into a cocoon of personal silence in the middle of the night. On the outskirts of Washington, the bus pulled into Howard Johnson and everyone except Vingo got out. He sat motionless in his seat, and the young people began to be curious about him, trying to imagine his life: maybe he was a captain, a wife who ran away from home, a veteran returning home, and when they got back to the car, one of the girls sat next to him and introduced herself.
Tom went home on a rainy day. It rained on his way home. He opened his umbrella and walked quickly.
He saw an old woman walking unsteadily with a stick in her hand. He didn't have an umbrella with him, so he got wet, so he went up to her and wanted to share his umbrella with herb. But the old woman was tall and he was too short to hold it.
Soon, he saw the old woman's stick and came up with a good idea. He lashed the stick to the handle of the umbrella. When the umbrella was enough for the two of them, the old woman again said thanks to him, and they went on walking home.