Saturday, April 14, 2012

Real-time Diary While Drunk

Bunker.
It is the name of the bar where I am sitting right now.

Everyone's a stranger.

Seats and tables are too low, the knee on top of my left thigh almost hit my chest.
So it is how the soldiers get seated in their bunkers.

It's 2:30 a.m.

City of Digos.

Took me five stops before landing a success in getting this ice-cold beer over this table covered with dilapidated mantel, with square prints intentionally done to look like mosaic tiles.

The waiter is taking a nap on the table next to me.

Good-looking guys sing 'Hanging By A Moment' just next to the mini bar, where I asked just a few minutes ago if I could have a beer. Same question I asked from the 'five-stops' I did sixty minutes ago. They're as young as I was ten years ago.

The carefree life of college dudes.

'I have lived'  the college era.

This space is too dim and I like it.  A guy gets inside and lays down on the cube-like wooden, white chairs joined altogether.

The drag queen  now sings in the corner where the boys did a while ago. She has been staring at me, flaps her heavily-mascara-dipped eye lashes twice as normal.

He or she must be horny.

I am too.

My preference is different my dear. We're on both ends of a steel bar. Nobody can bend it. Unless North Korea gets crazy and tries to bend it.

I want that that someone busy scribbling in the bar.

I want YOU before the sun rises.

YOU are now trying to wake up the sleeping waiter. YOU are a few inches from me. Oh come on, ask me if I need anything.

Did the ruggedly-looking guy just hugged you?

What the fuck!

You look like my ex who died of pulmonary edema. Same hair..

We are meant to see the sunrise-in a few hours-together.

Why is the other waiter with a mohawk  hairstyle hugging the waiter who's still on nap?

Everyone hugs here? Is this scene permitting me to hug you?

You're taller than me. It turns me on.

Shit I'm drunk.

I like your shoes by the way. They're sexy.



Eye contact.
Did our eyes just meet? Do I need to put meaning on it?

God, I like you.

I LIKE YOU.

Spaghetti strap, worn by this wasted-looking familiar lady. I know you baby. You used to be a wasted fuck. Still, you are now.


Oh, YOU are now dancing, right in front of me.

Is that supposed to mean something? I love vocabulary, defining stuff, in case YOU wish to know.


I'm acting like a teenager, bull shit, but I love it.
Makes me feel so young, again.

Oh fucking drag queen, spare me tonight. Stop playing with your hair. Pull your hair for all you want.

Oh YOU are now an arm length from me.  Do the first move please.

Bull shit, this nurse sings 'Close To You.' Abba is creepy.


Hey! I want YOU!

Not you crazy-fuck-combing-thy-hair-with-fingers. You're lucky I don't see your nails. Your hair looks soft, blacker, and I don't care.

The nurse smiles at me, ear to ear.

Not you people! Shit!

Good God, drag queen is leaving.

Thank you.

A guy with thickly-rimmed eye glasses sings in falsetto.

Now what?

Should I sing?

The nurse goes to the restroom. Don't give that stare. Florence Nightingale wouldn't like that.

YOU have been sitting outside. Do I transfer then and pretend the Bunker's too hot for me? I just cannot. Another one comes in and sits right in front me. Well, it turns me on. I like you baby, you look younger.

And, wilder.


Ok darling, you got the tune a bit right. Wait for my turn.

Oh you baby, I heard you're now a cop. Your spirit shall be up when I sing. Where's my song? I wanna sing right now!
 
Are you not gonna stop?

Yes, I did sing.

God, life is beautiful, indeed.

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