It was quarter past
7pm. Everybody was scurrying, the usual hubbub. A faint breeze fanned our faces
as we walked towards the bus stop. Small
beads of sweat formed my forehead. That bustling evening was extremely humid.
He puffed a smoke as we waited for his old friend. We were both giddy, we knew
that we can almost taste the one thing that we were dreamin' of. After a couple of puffs from the cigarette he
was hitting, the wait was over. We took a cab and went southwest. Where we're
headed was unfamiliar but that didn’t rub the excitement we felt. Three songs
had finished when we took a stop…
 |
| A part of my favorite quote by Mark Twain. |
…and under a
starless black sky of November 20th, I finally got inked.
