Seven Eleven past dawn

My batteries are low and draining so I'll make use most of it real fast to write this sleepless piece (of crap) as it is. Pardon me, therefore, if at some parts I deem it necessary to spare you the unnecessary boring details. And if by chance you still happen to bump into boring somewhere along the read, please do tell him that somebody else was looking for him the other day. And oh yeah, say hi for me too, he owes me a great deal of apology and it's already been a while.

It's just one of those days I guess when at some point you started the day off on top of the world, being amongst the brightest minds of the country (well, most of the time), sharing a laugh or two on not-so-bright subjects, while wondering privately why do we even bother. But we do, nevertheless, to have a lighter day of less stress when you seem to have the chance to take a blow on cracking jokes at one another and safely getting away with it; hopefully. Guess that's just how they are; needing a break from being so bright once in a while.

Then later on, as the same day advances, you find yourself having to queue up amidst the good citizens of this city for some administration work -when you're obviously darn observant enough to realize that it's not really the administration that needs the work. Well, yeah that too but you know it won't hurt the chance -if not already- of getting the votes for second term right, if only air conditioning is operationally present to make all this wait of getting all your personal details into electronic file worth while.

Seven Eleven

Entering the night afterwards was rather the crescendo of the day as I join Calenta and her friends on their English-Mozambique girls' night out of teenage dream and fireworks. Yeah we were making waterfalls out of every tear that were never dropped, making the kings in viva la vida wishful of their heads still intact, taking a bow for the man who can't be moved. Though we declined a Halloween follow up nearby after Luca for another week, it's still Mozambique drum rolls of a night deserving while.

Sleeplessness is really creeping in to get the better of me as I notice my carton milk drink is kinda childish compared to the bottles of arlbergs and einekens on the tables outside. But who cares, I love them milk better than some kids' desperate shot at alcohol just to make a funny statement. Besides, aren't these kids suppose to be in bed already, geez. And it's just not that kind of night for me anyway, never ever. I just ended up sitting here marking the fall from grace of the day, refusing to acknowledge defeat at the hands of those stupid darn keys. No I tell you, it is only for a while.