The blue moon

The very few times we drink together.

He went down to meet the rest, as I'm stuck with the suits on The Other Infant Milk. I joined not long after.

More Than a Cycle is asthmatic. He quits smoking years ago, and not many have seen him drink ever since. But he gulps a pint or two occasionally. We had a few recently due to work stress and the negative auras surrounding the office.

He only had two this time, enough to make him fly. I'm not that sober too, my last meal was at lunch. We had enough when we find middle-aged women getting younger.

We jumped over next door for a late dinner. After reminiscing the year, we strolled back to the office. Scouting girls along our way, giving each other signals on directions to look. We lepak for a while and call it a day after midnight. He waited at the drop-off to passed me the season pass, which I stacked together with his other tags.

We parted with a brotherly handshake.

What was the occasion?

It was his last day.

Why do all writers I can click with left so soon? Remember Buddy?

Think I'll switch to be a writer. And leave my art directors frowning in the corner.

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