Word: kitchened
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...simply, Section 11 thrives on obnoxiousness. Gritty, vulgar, in-your-face obnoxiousness. The kind that would inspire fans, in unison, to inform the visiting team's goalie that he was probably some kind of illegitimate child. Or, that his goaltending skills are on par with that of common kitchen straining devices. Or, that his face would make babies cry. Or, that his skates are too large and his "stick" is too small...
...kitchen was made available to the staff all night. The Adams overnight guests made sandwiches before they went to bed, McGahee says...
...bright side, practically every other kind of aid has been pouring into Gujarat?food, water, blankets, tents, volunteers. More than any previous natural calamity, the earthquake has sent Indians everywhere into a frenzy of giving. The trucks streaming past Girishbhai's kitchen bear the license plates of 20 different states. (I counted.) Every religious group you can name has a camp and kitchen in and around Bhuj. Even Tibetan refugees have pitched in. Some folks have gone overboard in their generosity. There is a surplus of used garments, sent by the truckload from all over India. Just outside Bhuj...
...then there are the walking wounded: the thousands of survivors whose minds cannot yet comprehend the full extent of their tragedy. Dozens of people who come to our kitchen bear the telltale signs of a nervous breakdown in progress, the stuttering, the facial tics. Many others are in deep denial, like Varsha, a Bhuj housewife in her late thirties. The apartment block that housed her third-floor flat has collapsed. Although she and her family were unhurt, the sight of all their worldly possessions going to dust has left her unbalanced. Every day, from dawn till dusk, she stands guard...
Sumati and Karsanbhai, encamped near Girishbhai's kitchen, are still waiting to hear from their 20-year-old son Vinod. He had left their home in Bhuj a few minutes before the quake struck, but there has been no sign of him since. Is he in another camp? Did he flee to his sister's home in Surat, to the south? Is his body lying lifeless under some mound of bricks and stone?or was it dumped, unrecognized, on a funeral pyre, like thousands of others? The couple, small and frail in their mid-fifties, are trapped somewhere between hope...