| Friday, January 23rd, 2009 |
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I bought 2 oranges on my way to work last night. I put them in my bag before I took a motorcycle from Fort Bonifacio to Ayala. The driver I had was familiar. I used to get him often, when I still stayed at the parents'. He drove his bike like the wind: fast, effortless and exhilarating. He wore his hair long -- longer than mine -- which fell into soft curls to the middle of his back. Recently he had his hair cut really short. Before I moved to Mandaluyong, we've become familiar to each other to the point of casual conversation and I commented on the new hair. He asked me how long I've been keeping my hair and I said four years. He kept his for 15 years; at one point it even reached his buttocks. "But I grew out of it," he said. "That was when I was still a bum." I didn't tell him I liked his hair. Work ends at 5 in the morning but I stayed until mid-afternoon to fix some decors in the office. I finally went to the apartment to shower and change clothes. As I'm writing this, I'm in cab on my way back to the office. Before I left the apartment, I emptied my bag, and guess what? The oranges were still inside. |
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 it will kill you one day.
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fruity.