Two cakes were brought by the postman, both stuck on a white linen pillow.
One was a cherry-jello tart; the other, a strawberry cheesecake.
"Gifts." the postman muttered.
"From whom?"
"A woman."

There was a card;
"I suggest you come to the airport."

I then had a telephone call, which was abruptly silenced by darkness.

*     *     *     *

Dad, Mum, and I, at a red wooden deck table out on the terrace.
It was the restaurant scene at night, from Fellini's "Rome". Only it was in the bright afternoon.
A man and his gang sat on an open terrace by some apartments high up, and waved his wine glass at us.

We were meant to spray bits of petroleum all over our finished dishes--it was a task.
"But we're not going to do it." I stated. My Dad, however, looked quite unsure about it.
"Are you sure...?" he started, "I think we're going to be in trouble. Big trouble."
The man hollered over at us to start working.

Then the man threw his wine glass, making a clean hit on someone's baby carriage.
My Dad was furious. "No, I will not spray petroleum.....ever."

But in the end, a girl came over and sprayed petroleum all over our rusty table.
Someone lit a cigarette.

Nothing much happened.

The sky was cloudy, without a hint of anyother colour than the palest gray.

I thought I would see a whole night sky shimmering with bits of stars.
I thought wrong.

*    *    *    *

I met a friend on the way to my meeting.
I always expect to meet someone. Someone yes, but never do I meet her.
Now I do.

She is.... surprised!