But of course, I was too engrossed in my pseudo-suicidal drama to re-remember to greet him. Dear kuya's apartment was filled with baby brother's minion clad in their pencil-cut pants and combat boots. What a sight [glad they've all retreated to their own niches now]. It almost would have contributed to my wrist-lashing.
In fairness to their indoor Mardi Gras, BB's girlfriend stood out like a shiny pearl amongst seaweeds. He makes me so damn proud of his taste in women [as opposed to his taste in clothing].
No alcohol for this celebration to adulthood, though. They didn't seem to need some.
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Did anyone notice this is the first time the P.S. was mentioned in this blog? P.S. nga e, Pierre Simon a.k.a. Post Script o Pahabol Sulat.
*.* as if! @ 1:44:00 AM • • RBJ
®fLoi enjoy 2005©