STRING 07: Daily Caffeine Fix Fixation

I made it a point to wake up earlier than usual, unlike most of the days when I thought of school as a jeepney ride away from home, to attend to the things that had to be accomplished for today. I dropped by a nearby computer shop to have my grades printed the second time, for the first one had been ruined by the spilt cologne in my bag.

Prof FC hadn’t been around by the time I arrived at the classroom and Miss President (And now that she’s been mentioned, I thought she’d step out of presidency?) was in charge of the table and of some paperwork he had left for the class to do. I wasn’t in the mood to do anything at the moment, three reasons I could think of were: 1. some misguided fucker had been sitting in my armchair and told me, rather nicely, to have my ass seated elsewhere, 2. my eyes hurt badly, and 3. I hadn’t ingested even a drop of coffee, which is terribly necessary for me to function well for at least five hours in school. Under these circumstances, how would I be able to make it to the President’s List? Oh well, the hell I care.

In lieu of bugging myself to do things that are supposed to matter but would mean nothing to me given that I am not in the mood, apparently because of the third aforementioned reason, I idled time away by cracking open F. Sionil Jose’s Mass. Though concentration in reading inside the classroom was next to impossible, putting the blame on my eyes that seem to ache perpetually and to the Shit Series strutting their stuff stupidly in front of everyone, I therefore conclude that Mass is, in a way, a good read.

Most in the class left school after enduring hours in suspended animation. Seb and I followed minutes later. When we parted ways at Pureza, a girl with retainers and considerably decent morals approached me as I guzzled my cappuccino shake. She mentioned about some organization yada yada whilst I wondered if she has some hidden agenda in the innermost recesses of her mind. I knew it. The whole talk was really leading into a mild form of extortion or donation yada yada (as she prefer it to be called) but at least she wasn’t like those who hitch in the jeepney and give effusive lectures that it’s better to give than to receive. At the end, I found myself groping for coins inside the front pocket of my pants, while saying, “Hala ate, hino-hold-up mo ‘ko” for I cannot afford the three-dimensional cards with the images of the Virgin Mary/Jesus Christ and verses on the verso that she's offering me.

Now I wonder if I do look like a prey. The girl in retainers looked less like a predator, anyway.