Kim wanted Italian, so we went to a place called Afrique’s. This was in Iloilo, a city I know nothing about. We ordered our Sicilian pasta, a seafood pizza, some garlic bread, and a pitcher of cucumber cooler from a fine looking waitress, and while waiting for them to arrive, I went out for a quick smoke.
The sauce on the fettuccine was delicious. The pizza was a bit overrated but was soon gone. We were still chatting about all manner of things at around 10 p.m., but our eyes were getting heavy and we both agreed that it was time to call it a day and head back to the hotel.
I examined her until we reached the head of the steps. Then I watched her disappear in the darkness of the hallway, and heard the latch of her door slide into place.
It was a long day for the both of us. We were bone tired after sixteen straight hours of repacking and distribution of relief goods to victims of Typhoon Yolanda. Iloilo City was one of the provinces that was most affected by the tropical cyclone, and with the help from our employer, the LGUs, courageous volunteers and generous partners, we were able to distribute relief packs and conduct medical missions to the affected areas.
Kim was nine years younger than I. She wore a light green spaghetti strap tank top, some cut off jean shorts, and a pair of flip-flops. There were no rings or bracelets on her hands. Her skin was lightly tanned and her silky black hair fell around her shoulders almost to her waistline. She had nice, athletic legs, a trim waist, and shapely hips. When she’s not spending time volunteering for disaster relief, she’s doing content marketing and web design. She was from Bacolod and had braces and was witty and could play the violin. I realized that the best way to win her friendship was through pot, so I took out my pipe, we went out for a toke, and the next thing I knew, she was lecturing me about marketing and Vivaldi.
Kim was nine years younger than I. She wore a light green spaghetti strap tank top, some cut off jean shorts, and a pair of flip-flops. There were no rings or bracelets on her hands. Her skin was lightly tanned and her silky black hair fell around her shoulders almost to her waistline. She had nice, athletic legs, a trim waist, and shapely hips. When she’s not spending time volunteering for disaster relief, she’s doing content marketing and web design. She was from Bacolod and had braces and was witty and could play the violin. I realized that the best way to win her friendship was through pot, so I took out my pipe, we went out for a toke, and the next thing I knew, she was lecturing me about marketing and Vivaldi.
The sauce on the fettuccine was delicious. The pizza was a bit overrated but was soon gone. We were still chatting about all manner of things at around 10 p.m., but our eyes were getting heavy and we both agreed that it was time to call it a day and head back to the hotel.
We talked comfortably for an hour while sipping beers at the lobby. It was amazing. This woman was hilarious and easy to talk to. Then for a long, jittery minute, we stared at each other in silence and then Kim stood up and wished me a good night's rest.
I examined her until we reached the head of the steps. Then I watched her disappear in the darkness of the hallway, and heard the latch of her door slide into place.
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