The bandit’s cousin was beautiful, and because of this he carried no money in his pockets. Women liked to buy him things, and men were afraid of his cousin. He did whatever he wanted to, and he thought that he was cool.
And he was cool, in the sense that people thought that he was, and in the sense of being cool, but not in the sense of having character, where cool is very narrowly defined. But he did not need character, and so this was well enough.
He was such a very lovely man that women were forever pinching at his bottom, and old women trying to kill him: they thought it was not fair, him being so beautiful, they so old. One woman though, instead of trying to kill him with poison or thin knives, attempted to build a time machine. It worked, partially – she could send fruit back in time, or other items smaller than a fist, and simple in structure. But she could not send her body back in time, because it was too large and too complicated. Her plan had been to keep her brain in this time, but to send most of the other cells of her body – breasts, face, legs – back in time, so that they could become simple again. But her body had grown beyond the scope of machines. And so instead she sent back her heart – she made her heart become a child’s heart, clear and greedy.
It was then that she finally understood the bandit’s cousin – he was a purely stupid specimen, uncapable of love. Had she succeeded in becoming young and lovely again, he still would have cast her aside. And so she joined with the other old women in trying to kill him. They said to her, “Why did it take you so long to understand?” She replied, “I had to go back in time.” They said, “You are a bimbo. He has always been a bigger bandit than his cousin – you were just too stupid to see it.”
(But a part of her hoped that they would not succeed.)