Tinker, Tailor

(Updates below)

At Starbucks.

A couple sits at the next table, facing each other. The guy is wearing a tank top, and has a tattoo on his left arm. The girl is quite pretty. I do my own thing.

Half an hour later, I notice that the girl is in tears. Tattoo guy is holding her hand, and stroking it. They are leaning close to each other, but I guess would be hard for them to lean close enough to kiss.

I do my own thing.

Some time later, I notice a guy in a black t-shirt walking in.

I think about blogging when he sits between tattoo guy and the girl, forming a triangle.

Guy-in-black starts talking to the girl. Tattoo guy leaves after a few moments.

Guy-in-black strokes the girl’s hand. I start blogging.

They lean close.

Their faces are a few inches apart.

He strokes her face.

They stroke each other’s hands.

He leans even closer. I hold my breath.

She shakes her head. A few times. I breathe again.

He hangs his head. Is he in tears?

She strokes his face. His mouth.

He leans in close again, and strokes her hand. I hold my breath.

She turns away. I breathe.

He cups his hand over her ears, and faces her towards him, and tries to pull her towards him, as he leans close. I hold my breath.

She shakes her head. I breathe.

She keeps shaking her head.

He strokes her fringe.

She faces him. Shakes her head.

He hangs his head.

She leans back into her seat. (Darn, no chance for kisses anymore.)

He’s still stroking her hand and knee.

She shakes her head.

He leans in close. Strokes her face. She moves his hand away.

He strokes her hand.

Tattoo guy comes back. Takes his seat. He’s watching them.

Guy-in-black is still stroking her hand, as if tattoo guy isn’t there.

She shakes her head.

After a minute, girl says something to tattoo guy, stands up and leaves.

Guy-in-black follows, hands in pocket.

Girl goes to the toilet.

Guy-in-black sits at the table outside the toilet.

Tattoo guy joins guy-in-black at the table outsite the toilet. They talk.

Girl comes out of the toilet. Guy-in-black follows her downstairs, with tattoo guy close behind.

Just then, a tall, slim and girl with short hair appears in my view. She’s very hot. I promptly forget everyone else.

Update:

Enough people have been bugging me about what happened after that, if any, between me and the short-hair girl.

I didn’t blog about it because there was nothing worth blogging about. But just to shut you people up…

Short hair comes in, totally captivating my attention. She looks around for a table. I hope she takes the one just vacated by the threesome, because I’d get a good view, but she picks one further away.

She sits at the table, facing me (yay!), but she’s obviously waiting for someone (boo!). I hope that someone is female.

Then this guy appears with a tray with 2 drinks and a muffin. He’s wearing a very fitting shirt so that the years he accumulated in the gym doesn’t go unnoticed. And the cuffs of his very fitting shirt has a floral print. Very gay.

And of course, he sits down with her.

I was having dinner with a friend when she suddenly remembered something.

“Hey my friend thinks you’re cute!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

She responded with some unspellable noises.

“Which friend?” She’s one of those people with a lot of friends.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Guy or girl?”

“Not telling you!”

Then I remembered. I was walking by a cafe a week ago when I saw her hanging out with a guy.

“It’s a guy! That guy you were hanging out with!”

“Not telling!”

No wonder he seemed to perk up when I said ‘hi’ to her at the cafe.

*Sigh*

Formula 1 in Singapore is just round the corner and it seems like everyone is talking about it. But really, what’s the point? Like many other human activities, Formula 1 is really quite stupid. Here are just 10 reasons:

1. The you can’t take any passengers.

2. And it’s cramped and uncomfortable inside the car.

3. With no space for your luggage.

4. And there’s no aircon (you need aircon in Singapore).

5. And no shelter from the rain (at least a convertible has a shelter).

6. And it’s extremely noisy (you won’t be able to listen to music while you drive).

7. And environmentally unfriendly (can’t they use electric cars?)

8. And the tires wear out so quickly (how often do you change tires for a normal car?)

9. And you don’t have a choice where you can drive to.

10. Sure, you can go pretty fast, but you keep coming back to the same spot.

I pity those poor Formula 1 drivers. They have to do such meaningless things just to make a living.

P.S. does anyone have tickets to spare?

1. People who squeeze into the train even before I’m able to get out. Fine, this happens in every station. I normally just walk into them and take pleasure in knocking them backwards. They get a rude shock while I pretend not to notice.

2. People who try to squeeze (or worse, jump) into the packed train even though there’s clearly no space for them. Okay this happens at other stations too. If they make the mistake of trying to squeeze right beside me, I won’t budge a single bit for them. In fact, I’ll shift a little to fill up the space they’re attempting to get occupy, so that they quickly become conscious of the futility of their endeavour as well as their immediate need to exit before the train doors interact with them. If they’re pretty, however, I gladly help them in like a true gentleman that I am. Unfortunately the pretty ones are usually too shy to squeeze beside me.

3. People who decide not to get on the train, but stand right outside the train door preventing me and others from getting in. This happens a lot, and I can never understand why. I really feel like knocking them over on my way in. It’s not like the train is packed. Sure, there aren’t any seats left, but there’s still plenty of standing room. But they prefer to stand outside. Nincompoops.

4. Taking the escalator down to the wrong platform. Which means I have to locate the escalator to the right platform, which means that I would have missed the earlier train by then, or if I’m lucky, I’d catch the earlier train, but I’d be blocked and annoyed by those mentioned in #3, before getting squashed and annoyed by those mentioned in #2.

5. Taking the escalator from the bottom (basement 3) platform, and ending up only in basement 2 instead of basement 1 where the exit is. Which means I either have to crawl up the stairs, or locate the (distant) escalator to basement 1, which is also another annoyance, adding to the annoyance mentioned in #1 which I experienced just before taking the wrong escalator.

Maybe someday I’ll also blog about Dhoby Ghot Doby Ghaut Dhoby Ghout Dhoby Gaut another station which I can never spell correctly and can never locate the right exit.

1

Carrot cake. I am so eating carrot cake next time. My gawd here she comes again. With a plate of carrot cake. Those innocent eyes. The silky soft skin. Gawd she glanced at me. Carrot cake. It’s gonna be carrot cake.

Goody she’s coming by again. With a plate of carrot cake. Those smooth slender legs. The long flowing hair. My gosh she looked at me. Her eyes lingered on me. It’s carrot cake next time. I swear it’s gonna be carrot cake. Nothing but carrot cake.

2

“I’d like a plate of carrot cake please. Small one.”

“Chili?”

“Yes please.”

“Having here?”

“Yep.”

“Your table number?”

“Somewhere over there,” I pointed.

3

“Thank you. So did you cook this?”

“No…”

“No?? But I only want the carrot cake cooked by you!”

“Haha but I don’t know how to cook carrot cake!”

“Ah well never mind. Just to give me your number.”

She stood there stunned for a while. I hadn’t paid her, so she wasn’t about to walk away.

“So next time I don’t have to go all the way there to order carrot cake.”

She laughed.

I gave her the 3 bucks. The best 3 bucks in a very long time.

4

Btw, carrotcake girl, do u do special home deliveries?

Haha maybe

* * *

Fiction

There were more bottles of alcohol laid out on the dining table in front of me than I could identify. It didn’t help that the lights were dimmed. But since this was supposed to be a party, and since just about everyone else had a drink in their hand, I figured I’d get one too…

Let’s see, maybe I can add some orange juice to my peach vodka. And some Pepsi too. And a bit of gin. Ooops I hope that wasn’t too much. Hmmm… those unmarked bottles look lethal - better leave them alone…

As I was sipping my strange concoction, I noticed 2 girls standing behind me, waiting for me.

This was not a good sign. Whenever a girl faces me squarely with folded arms, it means that she’s serious. Seriously desperate, seriously frustrated, or a serious combination of both.

Except that this time, there were 2 of them. 2 serious girls waiting.

I turned slowly, and took my time to take a very slow sip from my cup. Their impatience was palpable.

Then the Indian spoke up.

Actually she didn’t really speak up. She demanded.

“Are you attached???”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Yes, I have this annoying habit of answering questions with questions.

“Just answer the question!”

“Why SO serious?!” I tried to mimic the Joker, but it fell flat. They were clearly getting very upset.

“Ok I’m detached” I relented.

“And why aren’t you attached?” This time it was the American demanding.

I was trying to think of something clever to say but the Indian interrupted me,

“Or is there anyone that you’re interested in?”

I hesitated. That question almost always hides some agenda behind it.

“Or anyone in this room that you’re interested in?” she clarified.

I was puzzled. “Not yet?” I offered.

Then I noticed. The Indian kept using her eyes and eyebrows to point to the American.

It was probably the alcohol, as I still wasn’t getting it.

“You idiot!” the Indian came to me later that night without the American.

“What?”

“She’s interested in you!”

“Oh.”

“Are you interested?”

“That’s a good question.”