A heavy downpour was reportedly on its way but we reckon that we still have a couple of hours to discuss the matter on hand. Well, he first saw her on a crowded elevator, midway to his floor. He eventually braved the odds and spoke to her after a few more encounters which turned out to be a positive thing that he did. He was always proud about that, and would boisterously tell friends at dinner tables or after a few rounds of drinks during the weekend literature meetings held at his place.
He would occasionally talk about how it went on down to the very last detail and how this series of pleasing events would make him write about her. Unsolicited, he also does recite poetry whenever he feels like, and claims that the taste of rice has just become sweeter. Clinical or not, I think a sort of madness has stricken him.
It was exactly a month from today since the last time I had cake. I have almost forgotten its taste, how soft the texture is like exactly whenever I gorge a mouthful while smoking a stick of cigarette. And so I agreed to go out today.
We live near to each other, practically a good stone’s throw away. He was at the door for a good fifteen minutes before I reluctantly answered back.
I crammed my pockets with keys, phone and a few change, quickly pulling a jacket on. I took a deep sigh as I braced myself before stepping out. In the sun, I can see more visibly the tufts on my coat and the highway lines of my skin. Invariably despising this idea almost immediately, but there was also a hint of mood that stirred inside me. All of a sudden I became somewhat excited to see the moonglow and thought about spring.
On the reflection of a glass, my eyes followed a line of ants marching across the pane until I could no longer see where they were heading.
We were standing in the cold, at the front of a jewelry store. This younger friend asked me to choose which one he should buy her. Our hands were tucked-deep in our pockets, nursing to their feeble quakes.
I told him he was stupid, and we should buy cake now.