spaceCouple of hours ago, I went to MSE to see a friend. I had the cash to boot and another ace to get out of my shack. I tried calling her up to see if she's there but her phone seems to be dead. It's a risky trip going solo on a night like this, but what the hell. I like taking chances...
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When I got there, she was nowhere to be found. I felt a bitter sense of irony as I saw all the vintage shops and art galleries open for the night, but she wasn't there. Last time we went together, not all of them were open. So anyway, I had to make this trip worth my time. I started looking around the shops and they were great as always. I couldn't even take my eyes off Wawi Navarroza's works as I smoked another cigarette outside that shop.
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After three cigies, I left the place and decided to head back home. I could take a cab going to Malate, but I didn't. I heard Bogart wants a drinking binge, but I'm too tired and disappointed to take that trip. On my way to the bus stop, I saw a jazz band playing outside Cafe Havana. I thought of stopping by just to hear them rip and it was great. Oh how I love to be a trumpeter like Miles Davis or John Coltrane in a black suit with a hat on. Sometimes, I wish I was born in the 30's or so. Always love to be like one of them. Always love to look good in black and white.
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Riding the bus was always a scary thing. You'll never know if there's a bomb or a random punk armed with a revolver ready to take us down. But this time, I felt secured. Sitting on my left was a kickboxer. He was holding a pamphlet on kickboxing guidelines and on my right, a very old man wearing glasses and a large golf hat on. He's the coolest old fart I ever saw. There I thought sitting on the middle was rather appropriate. I just see myself in both of them...