"someone got lucky last night," a friend snickered. he meant the sonsy pharmacy counter girl helping me refill my nasal spray prescription.
this is trite. but the lady, so much happiness welled up in her, she could not contain it. she giggled, she stabbed the air with her manicured nails, she pawed her pharmacist. touched me.
"boy, am i glad to have you help me," i small-talked her. "oh," she gushed, unable to do anything with all the happiness in her. my emotionally dyslexic friend had to look away.
outside the pharmacy, the rain last night left weird prints on the roadside. like foot prints of some phantom animal. the air felt autumny already. and the two of us, unwilling to talk, walked like something befell us. a pentecost.
how does one explain happiness? that girl, she was happy. because she was, so then was i. arguably, my friend, too. can she take credit for how we look at the day now? can this late summer morning take credit for the blazing color of the soon to fall leaves?
my friend and i, we walked and walked. still not talking. until we reached the bus stop. he to take number 9. i, the 12. mine came first. i got on it, filled with expectations. of possibilities. of ripe mangoes. pitted, sliced. of steaming white rice topped with braised pulled pork. of intimacy. even of the smell of detergent clinging to freshly spinned shirts.
