What we can consider here, on page 606, is the fact of having no actual jackpot for acting like onions do. What so ever here we stand in, facing with something that we might quite understand or by means of sadness or ignite-selfishism try to pull over head what we already have forgoten. Maybe along the time we spent, hoping that someday or somehow the explanation for the right ocasion would just pop from soup. I like soup.