So I woke up with yet another scent on my nose-is that floral? I didn’t bother knowing anymore; the headache lingering is enough to make me wonder what where and why the fuck and all the unanswerable shiznits. I manage to look around with eyes half open, and nothing is recognizable. I see skin and hair; I assume I’m snuggled on someone else’s nape. I see white sheets, soft pink comforter and pillows, and other colorful decorations I can’t even begin to describe around the walls. Hello Kitty perched beside a table lampshade perked me up.

She must have sensed me moving so she slowly faced me, eyes half open. She had a small smile on her face-almost sweet, if it weren’t for the fact that the sweat on my chest right now still has markings of what transpired the night before. I could almost feel me harden when her naked skin brushed unto mine; but it’s enough, methinks. I smile a lazy smile, trying to return the same enthusiasm, then I place a small kiss on her lips.

Mmmm, she moaned, and she looked at me dreamily, and it almost breaks my heart to leave her in that state, but just before I was about to open my mouth to say thanks for the night, she goes, “You gotta go?” And she says that almost like as a statement, and for the first time, I ran out of sweet words to counter, so I just nod my head uncomfortably.

She smiles like as if she has had every man give her that very same confused look, then turns her back against me and snuggles to her pillow. “Just close the door, yeah?” And Just like that, I was rooted on my space of the bed, unable to move. But someone’s gotta go, and I can’t make her, so I slowly move out, look for my jeans and gingerly put on my striped top. No underwear for me tonight.

I move close to her and I hesitate, unsure whether or not a good bye kiss is appropriate. I settle for the cheeks. She grabs my collar and pulls me closer and we kiss, and there, hello, confidence. I smile goodbye, and she does, too, and just before I leave the room, I can see her already closing her eyes.





God, why don’t you make enough girls like that?





“Oy, two of those lamb toppings, yeah? And do you have beer?”

“It’s fucking six in the morning, Neeko. Why don’t you give your liver a rest?” And Harry the most unhygienic cook pours a mixture of noodles and whatnots in my bowl, then places two slices of lamb. I scratch two chopsticks in my palm then tap them on the table, then I start on the meat. Heavenly.

I love Harry’s joint. It’s just this small corner near the chinatown avenue and we all know he’s selling fake chinese stuff and neither is he chinese, but nobody complains. You sit there, and you eat, and if you’re lucky, you’re Harry’s bestfriend for the day. I’m always his best friend at this hour. Very few people eating, mostly early workers, and I’m the only one with the disheveled hair and without a bath. But Harry already knows that.

“So.”

“So?”

His eyes bulge like an impatient six year old. “So? Who is it this time?”

I pause while chewing on the noodles. I think really hard.

Harry looks at me incredulously. “Aww, you fucking bastard. You don’t even remember the name!”

I swallow before laughing. “I don’t even know her name.”

“What?!” And just like that Harry hits me in the head. Man, don’t I fucking deserve that. “You are fucking full of shit, Nikolai. You’re just cock and no balls, mate.”

“I am all balls and a huge cock, thank you very much. Just that my balls like the squeezing, not the remembering is all.”

“Oh you fucker. If I had a daughter you are not going absolutely near her. Not at all, you son of a bitch.”

“Hey, hey, Harry. Hasn’t happened yet; don’t get all too worked up, yeah?”

Harry shakes his head in what I think may be half amusement and half maybe disgust, but he’s still with a penis and we all know where that still leads to. I finish the remaining soup, pull out a few bills and coins, then slam it on the counter. I pick up a stick from the box near his food display and light it up, savoring both a mixture of the lamb and the sweet sweet smoke playing in my tongue. I rest my ass on the counter near where Harry keeps his dishes, and I stay there, slouched. Harry never bothers to rat on me anymore; I’m his most interesting customer, I think, as much as he’s my most favorite dirty food vendor. It even gives me goosebumps seeing him clean the counters like what he’s doing right now; like as if it wasn’t really like him to clean up.

Harry is mostly in his fifties, I think; balding but full of facial hair. Kinda wonder whether he looks at the mirror sometimes and wish if all those could simply just go to the top. I love Harry. He has a lot of stories unlike mine, and although I am yet to learn from him, at least, there’s a huge chance I might in the future when I’m balding and have lots of facial hair.

“You know,” he said almost pensively after the last few wipes, “I do hope one of these days your deeds won’t backfire on you.”

“Yeah,” I say, and I finish my smoke with a flick unto the street. “I mean, it WILL hurt if they won’t remember my name, either.”

“No, seriously, lad. All these things you’re doing, there has to be something to it. After all, it won’t be fair, would it?”

I brush my hands heavily unto my head and screw my hair more in an attempt to fix it. I have to ALWAYS look scruffy. Well, at least it silently implies to strangers I just either got up or got laid. I look at Harry and he’s leaning unto the counter, staring at me like my father would have if he found out about this—except he prolly would have said good job.

“Don’t worry, Harry. When that time comes,” and I get off his counter and start to walk with a small smirk on my face, “I promise not to come near your daughter.”

“Fuck you lad. But good luck.” And he shakes his head while I start walking unto the new morning.