A brush of limbs, their lips shiny
with drool or chocolate ice cream or some other sugary sweetness. Maids following closely, slowly behind
in some stoic swagger, ready to pluck precious if precious becomes, difficult.
Eventually, we will join the
flush of crowds at Suntec and Carrefour,
or marvel at Montessori’s magic.
Hurtle along in the MPV (Sports Edition) and smirk at the unfulfilled. At least, that’s what the television’s telling us. We do all this, because we can.
Mother made me learn with cheap chinese play-doh.
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