In the midst of an intense philosophical debate over the definition of luck with Benita I turned and asked, "What's your definition of luck, Vicks?"

"Something I lack," was her reply, eyes downward, the corners of her mouth already curling upwards as laughter burst forth.

These, and many equally brainless moments, marked our time on the balcony.


In other news, I just checked out Boey Kim Cheng's new series of poems, and I hereby declare that he finally seems to have found some direction in life. At least he's poems don't sound half as angsty anymore. Rather placid in fact. I prefer the older style.