Baul (1.a.)

Here are some things that I witnessed yesterday.

A white kitten stretched out in the middle of the road, as if waiting for cars to run it over.

A comatose dog, also on that same road, which I almost hit because his matted grey fur blended in with the asphalt.

A man selling crabs and lobsters in wicker baskets on Tomas Morato. He looked completely out of place there, an anomaly from another place and another time in the middle of all those fancy establishments, luxury cars and neon signs.

TV host Ryan Agoncillo, in the smokers' lounge, looking very hot. A chinita doll is with him, slim hands folded in her lap. She is nodding at everything that he says.

A lizard-faced lolo sidled up next to me, asking what kind of computer I was using. That's a very pretty machine, he croaked, just like its owner. And with absolutely no segue whatsoever, the clincher: Are you married?

Two baristas debating over whether or not to hide the chocolate cake.

The waiters at Treehouse, who danced to trance music while serving the guests.

A handsome man in black sitting next to me all afternoon, messing with my shared music, commenting on my impressive collection of Belle and Sebastian albums. He wore a white horn around his neck, and he smelled of jasmine. I was almost tempted to give my number when he asked for it, then I remembered I was in love with someone else.