The Mind of a Mall Wanderer

“Well no doubt they are inspired.”

“No shit.”

These are my almost famous words as somebody “tried to read and understand my badly written poem. It is a widely known fact, among friends at least, that I write shitty poems. They don’t touch that zone of sympathy, much, much less for empathy, colorless, monotonous, no layers, shallow and literal.

And there goes my poetry as the young couple beside me walks away. Now consider the first lines I wrote as an elaborate disguise. I was quite flattered to find them reading what I was writing. I’m sitting on a huge ass, geometric looking chair inside the mall while waiting for my sister who’s applying for her next job. Without a doubt, I know my she’s going to ace the interview. I am left here twiddling my thumbs in the midst of strangers. It will probably take another hour before I could leave. My butt’s pan flat now as I’ve been sitting here for more than an hour already. My only consolation is full inked pen, my little notebook (yes a real notebook techie people) and my darting eyes.

In the past hour, I’ve been given a flyer by a Moshi Koshi Noodle Boss employee. I read it. Cool. I wasn’t really hungry. My red wallet told me I’m not hungry. In the past hour, an old man hit on me who immediately left after noticing my headphones. The earphones are clearly a strategy. It was plugged into my phone which was turned off that moment. I was saving my battery but he doesn’t know that. A group of women huddled beside me. They kept on pushing I almost fell from my chair. If not for my pen and “professional” glasses, I couldn’t have scared them away. They were in a heated debate on what Havaianas they were going to buy. It was so much fuss about beach slippers that it forced me look at my grey sandal clad feet. Damn! My red and gold nail polish is chipping away. Who cares? More than an hour of sitting without a backrest reminded me of my back pain. I have to get a massage soon. My red wallet sends me a message. I don’t need a massage. Salon Pas it is.

I kept on glancing at the elevator and escalator hoping my sister would come down soon with a grin on her face. There is a man wearing black from head to toe. He’s sitting in front of me and kept on giving me these “looks”. Too short. Nope. I’m sorry. Damn! Moshi Koshi noodles look good. Then there’s Adobo Connection on the other side. I remember eating there once… So never mind. I can cook better adobo. No shit. But Moshi Koshi noodles look really good. Nah! It could be bland.

Aha! My right ring finger’s starting to swell from the pen’s pressure. It’s time to rest my hand and do some people analysis: WHY ARE THERE SO MANY PEOPLE INSIDE THE MALL?

p.s. My sister got the job. Yey!

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