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@hunger_bites: Chiken White Handi #charsadda #FoodLover #afaqawnafees #foryoupage #HungerBitesCafe

Hunger Bites Cafe
Hunger Bites Cafe
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Region: PK
Wednesday 21 October 2026 16:06:28 GMT
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Comments

shiekhsaib8
Shiekh Saib☝️ :
price
2026-10-21 16:12:33
0
abdulhaseebkhan551
Mr Haseeb Khan :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-10-22 02:11:58
0
asimjano4
♡ 𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑨𝒔𝒊𝒎 ♡ 💙 :
😘😘😘
2026-10-21 18:15:09
0
asimjano4
♡ 𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑨𝒔𝒊𝒎 ♡ 💙 :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-10-21 18:15:06
0
israrkhan00000000
Israrkhan00000000 :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-10-21 18:11:10
0
zaidk594
( Zaid :: khan :: ) :
💞💞💞
2026-10-21 16:59:17
0
osamakhan_004
Osama khan :
❤️❤️❤️
2026-10-21 16:27:47
0
osamakhan_004
Osama khan :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-10-21 16:27:45
0
302lofer30
ℍ𝕦𝐬𝐬𝕒𝕚𝕟🤩🤩 :
[Red heart][Red heart][Red heart]
2026-10-21 16:15:10
0
ibrahimshenware
ibrahimshenware :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-10-21 16:12:41
0
salemm.khan0
Salemm Khan :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-10-21 16:09:55
0
salemm.khan0
Salemm Khan :
❤️❤️❤️
2026-10-21 16:09:52
0
kaeerm765
KEERM KHAN 😈 :
[Heartwarming][Heartwarming][Yummy][Yummy]
2026-10-22 02:17:47
0
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Make your soul grow In 2006, Kurt Vonnegut wrote to five teenagers he'd never met. He was 84 and living on East 48th Street in Manhattan. He had stopped making public appearances. Slaughterhouse-Five was thirty-seven years behind him, and A Man Without a Country, published the year before, had been an old man's furious little book about a country he thought was finished. At Xavier High School in New York, an English teacher named Ms. Lockwood set her class a persuasive-writing assignment. Pick a famous author. Write to them. Convince them to visit the school. Five of her students picked Vonnegut. None of the authors came. Vonnegut was the only one who wrote back. The letter arrived typed, signed with the asterisk self-portrait he had been drawing for decades. He apologised for not visiting on the grounds that he now resembled an iguana. Then he told them the only thing he had to say, which he said would not take long. Make art. Any of it. Sing, dance, draw, write, act, badly if necessary. Not for money, not for fame. Do it to find out what is inside you. Then he gave them homework. Write a six-line rhyming poem tonight. Make it as good as you possibly can. Tell nobody. Show nobody. Not your parents, not your girlfriend, not Ms. Lockwood. Then tear it into tiny pieces and put the pieces in different bins. He wanted them to understand that the reward was not the poem, and never had been. Nobody has to see it for it to have counted. You made something, and the making changed you, and that is the whole of it. Five months later, in April 2007, Vonnegut fell at his home and struck his head. He died a few weeks after. He was 84. The last piece of advice he gave to a room full of strangers' children was to make something beautiful and throw it away. Somebody kept the letter. Send this to someone who needs it.
Make your soul grow In 2006, Kurt Vonnegut wrote to five teenagers he'd never met. He was 84 and living on East 48th Street in Manhattan. He had stopped making public appearances. Slaughterhouse-Five was thirty-seven years behind him, and A Man Without a Country, published the year before, had been an old man's furious little book about a country he thought was finished. At Xavier High School in New York, an English teacher named Ms. Lockwood set her class a persuasive-writing assignment. Pick a famous author. Write to them. Convince them to visit the school. Five of her students picked Vonnegut. None of the authors came. Vonnegut was the only one who wrote back. The letter arrived typed, signed with the asterisk self-portrait he had been drawing for decades. He apologised for not visiting on the grounds that he now resembled an iguana. Then he told them the only thing he had to say, which he said would not take long. Make art. Any of it. Sing, dance, draw, write, act, badly if necessary. Not for money, not for fame. Do it to find out what is inside you. Then he gave them homework. Write a six-line rhyming poem tonight. Make it as good as you possibly can. Tell nobody. Show nobody. Not your parents, not your girlfriend, not Ms. Lockwood. Then tear it into tiny pieces and put the pieces in different bins. He wanted them to understand that the reward was not the poem, and never had been. Nobody has to see it for it to have counted. You made something, and the making changed you, and that is the whole of it. Five months later, in April 2007, Vonnegut fell at his home and struck his head. He died a few weeks after. He was 84. The last piece of advice he gave to a room full of strangers' children was to make something beautiful and throw it away. Somebody kept the letter. Send this to someone who needs it.
Pelabuhan Rasa - Lagu Ambon #pelabuhanrasa #laguambon #ambon #maluku #lagutimur
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