Mocca And The Taxi Driver

Changing into my gym gear, I stole a glance at the only other person in the men's changing room. He was quite a big guy, resembling the bodybuilder in the I-selling-my-house-at-Mocca.com advertisement, except that he allowed his thinning hair to dangle sparsely above his shoulders.

Another one entered. Mocca's face lit up with recognition, smiled and nodded a greeting. The other nodded in return.

"How's the taxi?" Mocca asked.

"Fed up!" fumed the taxi driver.

"How come?" enquired Mocca.

"I was waiting for a passenger near an office building. My passenger was late but the appointed pick-up point was at the side of the building. No parking was allowed there but I decided to wait for a while as an ang-moh had his BMW parked in front of me, apparently also waiting for someone.

Soon the building's security guard approached. He ignored the ang-moh but motioned for me to move my vehicle. I pointed at the ang-moh's BMW indignantly but it was in vain; the security guard persisted in waving me away. Luckily, my passenger appeared just in time and a conflict was avoided."

"People just don't respect taxi drivers," sighed the taxi driver.

I caught sight of Mocca shaking his head sympathetically as I left the changing room.

Our Gay Agenda

Finally! You have an off day tomorrow! This is what we will do:

1. Sleep till 10 AM.
2. Drive to Tanjong Pagar where we will have brunch. I really miss the Nasi Lemak at the Tanjong Pagar hawker centre.
3. You need to buy some computer parts to repair your nephew's computer so we will need to make a trip to Sim Lim Square.
4. Come home and bathe the dogs.
   
5. Rest a bit before making our way to the gym.
6. Meet mother for dinner.
7. Send mother back home.
8. Come home.

That's our gay agenda, I guess.

Old Places, Old People, Old Tissues And Some Differences

We were having breakfast at Da Lian again.

Again the tissue lady came. We rejected her offer to buy her tissues by pointing to a packet of O'Darling 3-ply on your side of the table and she left.

"How did you manage to find this old brand? I haven't seen it for a while," I said, picking up the packet and studying it for a while. There was a starkness in the anime girl's face that I don't remember and the colours appeared deeper.

"I bought it off a man with one leg," you replied. "He looked really pitiful so I bought some packets from him."

"It looks different."

"Perhaps it's made in a different place now. Malaysia?"

The Penal Code Nightmare

Mom said she had a nightmare the other night that it was on the news that all singles were to be given the death sentence. When the police came to arrest me for being unmarried, she ran in desperation after the police van, but as in most nightmares, she was unable to catch up with the vehicle.

Openly, we laughed at the absurdity of the nightmare.

Yet, I can only wonder to myself the subconscious trigger that bore such anxieties.

Casinos And Rolex Watches

All the display windows featured dazzling arrays of branded watches. I grimaced at a diamond-studded gold Rolex with disgust but turned to see you browsing with interest.

"Are they expensive?" I asked, hiding my disinterest.

"I'm not sure. Let me search for a model I'm familiar with," you replied. "How much is 6000 Macau money in Singapore dollars?"

"About $1200."

"It's cheap then. That watch has a resale value of $2000 back home," you said, pointing to a rather plain-looking Rolex.

A single Chinese character on each of the neon signboards of these watch galleries betrayed the shops' true business dealings - they were all shops that resold expensive items given to them as collaterals.

"It's not surprising to see so many of these shops here within close proximities of the Casinos. If you win money, you can buy a Rolex home; if you lose, you can try your luck again after selling off your Rolex."

I thought about the Casinos to be built in Sentosa back in Singapore and wondered if such businesses would be the future of Sentosa.

The Haze And Our Conspiracy Theory

We woke up to another hazy morning. From our window, a thick blanket lay over the shophouses and the commercial buildings, smothering the usual fresh morning air with a choking stench.

"The PSI must be over a hundred again," you said, standing by the window.

I flicked the TV remote on and read the news ticker at the bottom of the screen, "CNA says PSI reading is only 78."

"This doesn't look like 78 to me," you said. "Maybe they have to report a lower reading in case we panic."

"It does look as bad as last week," I observed, coming closer to the window to stand beside you for a while.

Our conspiracy theory disappeared into the haze almost as soon as it was conceived.

"What do you want for breakfast?" came your habitual query.

"I don't know. We decide at the hawker centre?" came my habitual answer.

The Water Man

We were crossing the road when a man cycled past carrying numerous empty plastic containers on his bike.

"I see him frequently. I think he goes out every night to collect water to bring home," you remarked.

Sure enough, I bumped into the water man last night as I was going down the stairs to meet you for dinner. There on the fifth floor corridor, his bike was loaded with the plastic containers that were now filled up with water. He seemed to have just taken a bath for his hair was limp with moisture and his shorts were wet. He grasped two of the containers by the handle and wobbled back to his unit leaving behind a trail of wet footprints.

"I think he has had his water supply cut off by PUB," you deduced.

"The outside of his unit is quite messy," I observed. "Piles of old newspaper, bamboo poles of laundry, a few old, rusty bicycles..."

"Maybe he is a karang guni man?" you suggested.

Air-Conditioning The Haze

The haze is back. This time much worse than previous years and we can actually see a significant loss of visiblity.

"I don't smell the usual burning stench of the haze," you said.

"It's there. We can't smell it now because of the air conditioning in your car." After some thought, "Do you set your air conditioning to renew the air from the outside?"

"No, the air is recycled within the vehicle," you replied.

Later at your place, we forsook the 42" plasma in the hall for the 29" Trinitron in the bedroom because only the bedrooms have air conditioning. After a quick shower, I was munching grapes on the bed. You were looking out of the window.

"It's really bad. It smells awful and Suntec City is no longer visible."

"What will happen when the PSI level finally reaches very unhealthy levels?"

"Maybe we will all have to wear masks."

Bak Chor Mee And Breaking Routines

I suggested that we have breakfast at the Da Lian bak chor mee stall beneath the Workers' Party headquarters at Syed Alwi Road*. The noodle isn't spectacular, but it's a nice change and it's good to break routines once in a while.

Some habits are hard to break though. You had your usual kopi-si-kosong and I my teh-si.

An old woman sat down at the next table and wondered aloud what she wanted to eat. In hokkien, she complained that everything was sianz [uninteresting].

You said, "Guess life is like that sometimes."

I didn't say anything. I was too busy searching for the pieces of tur kwa in my bak chor mee.

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* As ironic as it sounds, there IS a bak chor mee stall under the Workers' Party headquarters.

For the uninitiated, check out the mr brown show.

No More Bruises

Why is a HDB car park so full on a Friday night? Don't the residents go out?

"Haven't seen a new bruise the whole week," you announced as you finally backed into the only available parking slot.

"You sound disappointed."

Later at home, I could see that the old bruise on your right tricep has started to heal. The centre of the bruise has regained the usual healthy skin colour leaving a swirling ring of purple.