Papaya

He was passed 2 slices of papaya by Ma. He looked at it. Staring at it. With some strange feeling. It hit him that this was someone's favorite food.

Not by itself actually. Mixed with milk. A strange concoction that it seems to make bosoms bigger or so they believe.

It would be her poison of choice. Every time after a meal in school. The orange bright mixture with a portion of milk added. The familiar sound of grinding of papaya in the machine. As it drips into the cup like a bright orange gold. The brightness stunningly blinds if all were in monochrome world.

As the orange swirls in the white pureness of milk, the hawker pokes the straw right in. Sipping it happily, she completes her meal. In the hopes of having a fuller bosom.

He sits staring. Images and sound coming and going. 2 pieces of papaya.

He takes a bite, the juices gushes. Sweet and fragrant.

How would this taste with milk?