It still wasn’t very clear to him. He was loitering, a usual sunday morning, made himself the lousy nescafe premix coffee did his experiment, adding little bit of cream and shaking contents in a mixer it produced rich foam. Adding a circular dollop of chocolate sauce for presentation purpose. And took an obligatory instagram, for he has been keeping himself busy with instagrams these days, following well known and not-so-well-known photographers, few friends and few celebrities. It had a charm of its own, last time he was discussing with her cousin in London, so what would have Conan Doyle posted as a Instagram from his 21 baker street, Hyde park. He did not got a very convincing reply, or the one he was looking for. “You can’t always get what you want”, was playing in his mind in loop since last night, it was sort of answer to his life questions. And yet to get this epiphany , in a the rolling stones concert was something : tipsy with red wine, shiraz to be precise, was not the best wine,  but then always better than a beer. They don’t serve scotch in concerts. There was other part of the song, but if you try hard, you’ll get what you need. He was still trying to figure out what he needed.

The haze was back in Singapore and it hung over the city like a gossamer, a translucent veil to the beautiful urban visage. It was only when you entered through it , you would have felt  your nostrils burning or that bbq smell. The clouds were back, and it rained, it rained after 3-4 weeks, it cleansed everything and anything and bought jauntiness to the monotonous urban landscapes, through the wet gossamer. Nature had its own photo filters, and rain was the best one. Soon the petrichor would be in air, and what better day to have a coffee and jot down. He quickly ran through cafes in his mind, the one in Orchard, the hardware one in some corner, the one in upscale Tiong Bahru and the one in east coast park. He dismissed all of them, owing to distance.

– May be if I  just get that french press back here at least will not die thirsty on sundays.

His roommates were switched on xbox and he resisted the temptation to go there and shoot through M1 at enemies in a scottish highland castle.

It was midnight already

– oh man, the time fucking flies so fast. He cursed that fucktard for sharing reuse of plastic bottles, no seriously, get a life man, get beyond these walls of Facebook. He cursed another one instagraming, although he knew he was hypocrite in his accusations yet they all seemed to be well placed – hyper targeting as the marketing folks in 3 piece suit would have termed it, ohh its not 80s anymore, marketing blokes with a jacket and a denim would have retorted to.

– Our hyper targeted advertisements are best in the class and promise best ROI for your investment.

He had this sudden whim and exigency  of watching aurora borealis in Norway, as if the phenomenon would cease happening from next year. It has to be this year man, say what, we go in fourth quarter, when the days are small and the night is dark and lights are bright in north of northern hemisphere.

– Yeah we can take all those unfinished books with us.

He acknowledged the silent pain in the core, yet proudly metaphorised it to medal of honour for callisthenics.

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