The granite-grey sky gaps,
the landscape in a blurry screen,
as pins cold as winter
pierce the pool's blue-green -
a zillion ants boiling.
- Saturday, 1451 hrs
A bit of the afternoon relished at the poolside amidst the relentless downpour. After all of four laps, I took out my little black book and began writing and listening to Joi Chua's songs. The rain was no recourse in the matter of options. And it continued to be so, until hunger struck.
A young lad in bright orange shorts seated near, glanced at me. Maybe I was incautious with my MP3 player and such in my unzipped bag, making him a potential thief. Anyhow, I was alerted. Minutes later, while taking a shower, he sauntered in with absolutely no intention of doing the same - his hands were empty. I had left my cubicle's door ajar just in case. He must have seen me, for he walked past my belongings twice, the second time perhaps hoping to catch me unaware. I guess one must be a easy target when the pool isn't teeming with people. There was nobody else in the shower room.
After that, I had KFC for lunch. From my little black book:
I am pretty sure when the Colonel first cooked up the recipe for his chicken, the last thing on his mind was our dietary wellness. Of course, to some, there is a certain mental wellness attached to eating the chicken, an illusion gifted by the brain-washing coloured screen.
P.S.: I have broken my vow to swear off fast food. And I regretted not running the Singapore Marathon.