Yan skipped off light-footed yesterday lunchtime, quietly chortling, almost.
Little doubt it takes it outta the man more, especially longer-tooth. (All those complaints from the ladies of even young guys nodding off immediately afterward.) The old Buddhists knew what they were talking about with spilt seed.
Marvellous passages in that 12-15 minute merry-go-round. As before, exceedingly precious admissions extracted—albeit like pulling teeth for Yan’s kind.
You ready now, Yan?… We wait sikit?… Ok? Ready?
As usual, only answer to any of it came without verbals—rocking in the saddle and starting up her little gallops.
Spoke volumes that.
Empty no good, right? Nothing good kosong… (Zero. Empty. Void.)
It had been 10 days? Or was it the full two weeks? Former, according to Yan, who always kept proper count, together with her cycle.
Empty. Might have been a first the explicit answer there.
No, she said. No. Empty was no good in anybody’s language.
In a court of law the judge would have required the witness raise her voice.
Speak up, Madam, please. Answer more clearly for the gentlemen of the jury to properly hear.
We danced along ring-a-ring-a-rosey, the squeaky tune cranking up.
Filling the void; the empty nullity.
Some little up-tempo was allowed on this occasion and not pressed so very hard by the lass. Only the one proper spurt, over almost as soon as begun.
Ah! That was better; small steps in the slow dance. If we hurried too much we outdid ourselves too soon.
Sharpening… How long it had taken, how many years, to comprehend Bosnian Stojan’s cheeky term? How obtuse could a literary man be.
Plenty of tongue finally given, too. There was little doubt, these darlings had been warned by their grannies about dangers. Easy to lose a chunk in those perilous passages.
AWAS! Beware!
A check later showed how many messages had been exchanged in the full hour & one half while we sized up the possibility.
11:33 - 13:05.
Finally, on the 26th missive, the matter was firmly decided.
Ok coming up.
When in fact the girl could be spied from the window above already turned at the near corner on the path, black dress beneath the red umbrella.
Just then some of the laggards were making for Khalid for the Friday service, hurrying like Yan in their tunics & caps. On departure thereafter more were returning to their flats for lunch. Utmost discretion always required amidst that traffic.
Along the walkway toward the bus stop, young Nizam the Dayak (converted) with his three young sons, who were slowly being inducted into the proper path. The encounter could not be avoided.
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