I strain to hear but I fail to mimic. I can’t make my
inoculating style as melodious as Sir Philip does. He may be unaware of the
artistry of the sound and the line of his streaks. He may not even see the
craft he has made out of those repetitive acts. He must be. How could he make
the analogy of hand flicks between streaking and painting?
This reminds me the worthy of mention dedication of Sir
Edson. Almost all of the staff was out last September 16. He had to be in
charge of Benches A to C though he is still sleepy after driving for the
Tagaytay excursion with his recently-operated-on-not-yet-fully-recovered-knee.
Kudos Mr. Simon, RMT, MPH!
Today, I heard my footfalls on the plush but still thin
carpet of B hotel’s 10th floor hallway as my jeans, 5 inches above
my knee, reveal the friction between them with their scraping sounds at my
every step.
The granite bench beneath the almost ceiling to floor mirror
was giving off concentrated coolness on the chilly room. Grazing down the glass
side of the hotel’s room, How lonely it
would be to have all this luxury all by yourself. I have all the wealth in
the world – health and family and everything my heart could ever desire, I
already own them. I just don’t know it yet.
These material riches, I could work my life to gain them but
never in exchange for this family I cannot afford to lose. I have the people I
want to spend my life with that life in luxury becomes dull in comparison.
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