i’m on my way to symphony to meet alibe, aisaadhi and a special guest. yes readers, a SPECIAL guest. now many of you may not recall the days of mvblogs, the internet was probably prohibited to most of you (except x****licious), but it must be said that the special guest was basically king of this little online fiefdom. or is it fief of the fiefdom?

no matter.

i’ve had two cups of coffee. i met with a european man on business just half an hour ago and he gave me an iced latte and invited me over to his resort. no homo. he was just continental. and verbally incontinent.

and i have some of that in me now. my mind is full of words and my mouth spits them out in oblong sentences. if only i knew what any of them meant!
coffee does this to me. it’s probably not the best day to meet a new person.
when i enter symphony’s open area it is dominated by a clutch of MDP bigwigs. wtf? how did this happen? i say hi to male’s most private intellectual and make a hasty exit.

i then enter the OG restaurant. wow. it brings back memories. they’re flooding in and MAN, i’m DROWNING. MAMMAAAAA!

‘husenfulhaa!’

and i am brought, no, JERKED back into the present.

here they are, smiling. my friends. my two lovely friends aisaadhi and alibe. and this special guest.

let’s just call him thakuru. he is a big man, seemingly docile, but i am wary of giants as an ant may be of a giant ant.

‘i was getting huge vibrations from that side of the wall,’ i tell my friends.

‘vibrations?’ asks alibe.

‘do you mean vibes?’ asks aisaadhi.

‘yes, that’s the word. kilegefaanu is at a table there.’

‘we knew you’d meet him first,’ laughs aisaadhi. ‘you’re too drawn to that man.’
‘anyway,’ says alibe. ‘write down your order on this.’

and he hands me a wallet with what looks like an invoice clipped on to it. this place hasn’t changed. i scribble beef biriyani and turn to thakuru.

‘what do you do?’

‘nothing.’ he says, almost too quickly and too forcefully. funny man, thakuru.

‘you know,’ i say in a low voice. ‘i came across this piece recently and i thought i’ve only ever seriously considered the thoughts of loner types.’ i am setting up alibe.

‘loner types? like who?’ replies alibe.

‘oh people like you know, camus or kiekegaard.’

‘but kiekegaard wasn’t advocating a -’

ah, alibe. letting that loose into this dim, air conditioned maahaul of symphony.

‘i think the problem with most philosophers was that they didn’t show their stuff to their wives,’ says aisaadhi.

our food arrives.

‘i think -’ i begin.

‘eat first,’ says thakuru.

‘rude,’ i say to myself, and sense my thoughts as they begin to settle in the fine sediment of my mind.

the biriyani is surprisingly good, greasy but they have the flavours down. the beef though, cooked in a sweet sauce, is VERY distracting.

meanwhile, right in front of me, alibe is wolfing down what seems to be a caesar salad.

who the hell eats salad at symphony?

‘what did you say?’ remarks alibe, smiling, and those lips threaten to take over his face. the front door slams open. the noon sun glares into the interior. silhouettes dash in, and in this frenzy it’s impossible to know friend from foe. meanwhile, a chocolate dessert sizzles on my right. someone taps urgently on a glass with cutlery. DINGDINGDING!

AAAAAH!

‘husenfulhu!’

it’s aisaadhi.

‘what’s up? you haven’t touched your food.’

i haven’t? didn’t i JUST do that? didn’t the beef taste…SAUCY?

i take a bite!

WOAH!

de ja vu! it’s a GLITCH in the MATRIX! i HAVE TO wake up!

WAKE UP!

i am in bed next to sampaafulhu who rests on her side and looks at me with worry.

‘wtf happened?’ i wheeze.

‘you had a panic attack at symphony. alibe brought you home.’

damned coffee!

‘you should drink something.’

‘the sprite from shell beans! quickly! post haste!’

‘on it.’