Heavy rains. In the first week of May. Can you believe that?
I woke up this morning and when I looked at my blue-lighted digital alarm clock, it was already 10:30 am. I was late, again, for work. The damn cellphone alarm did not work. Or I never heard it when it went off. I must be too drunk to wake up.
My phone told me that I was wanted in the office by the Boss. He wanted me to draft a simple business letter, which I did the minute I sat in my PC.
We had 3 liters of Red Horse beer last night. Celebrating the rains in the first seven days of May. Someone’s prayers must be heard by the raingods. Ahh.. I love the fuckin’ rain. Or I love to fuck when it rains outside. That’s more like it.
Red Horse because it is more manly. And because it is the only drink I can afford to buy these days. Too broke to buy San Mig Light or Cerveza Negra. Too broke to visit Pareng Jimmy in his bar.
But, truth is—we started to drink Chivas Regal with Coke last night. My kumareng E.A. gave it to me last Monday morning, courtesy of her kind husband who works in the Iraq war zone. I have only 2 shots of that shit, and my delicate-smooth-Camay face turned red and I felt that my whole body was burning. Damn hot. Having taken 2 shots only and I was dead drunk. So, I thought we need to wash it down with poor man’s beer. Luckily, the nearest store owned by a stinky old Vietnamese woman was still open. The half-full bottle of Chivas was placed in the open shelf. In all likelihood, Joan’s pa would gulp the whole damn thing the next day. Who cares?
That’s the story of the rain. In May. Time to light this Dunhill Frost outside. Hand me the damn lighter, cabron.
I woke up this morning and when I looked at my blue-lighted digital alarm clock, it was already 10:30 am. I was late, again, for work. The damn cellphone alarm did not work. Or I never heard it when it went off. I must be too drunk to wake up.
My phone told me that I was wanted in the office by the Boss. He wanted me to draft a simple business letter, which I did the minute I sat in my PC.
We had 3 liters of Red Horse beer last night. Celebrating the rains in the first seven days of May. Someone’s prayers must be heard by the raingods. Ahh.. I love the fuckin’ rain. Or I love to fuck when it rains outside. That’s more like it.
Red Horse because it is more manly. And because it is the only drink I can afford to buy these days. Too broke to buy San Mig Light or Cerveza Negra. Too broke to visit Pareng Jimmy in his bar.
But, truth is—we started to drink Chivas Regal with Coke last night. My kumareng E.A. gave it to me last Monday morning, courtesy of her kind husband who works in the Iraq war zone. I have only 2 shots of that shit, and my delicate-smooth-Camay face turned red and I felt that my whole body was burning. Damn hot. Having taken 2 shots only and I was dead drunk. So, I thought we need to wash it down with poor man’s beer. Luckily, the nearest store owned by a stinky old Vietnamese woman was still open. The half-full bottle of Chivas was placed in the open shelf. In all likelihood, Joan’s pa would gulp the whole damn thing the next day. Who cares?
That’s the story of the rain. In May. Time to light this Dunhill Frost outside. Hand me the damn lighter, cabron.
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