Chill out night at Arab Street

Kaki 5

Chilling along the back alley of Arab Street,
Cigarettes and sheesha, we took turns puffing,
Joking, laughing and enjoying the company,
It's life's simplest pleasures that makes life worth living.

It was a refreshingly nice chill out night after a long tiring day at work, with friends, just smoking sheesha, cigarettes, yakking away and having a good laugh. Initially, I had wanted to catch the famed Seaon the Stylist and partner performing salsa at Union Square and probably get some dancing done, but lethargy and the lure of sheesha seduced me to the back alleys of Arab Street.

Cheeky Chop's comment cracked me up when she said that she was "glad that her sister married her brother-in-law', and we talked about marriage, and all those "tekan" sessions that they made the groom do. Amongst them was passing an egg from the left trousers of the groom to the right trousers without using hands. And having a marriage contract that favours the bride. What is his is hers, and what is hers, is hers. Ahh...the things a guy will do to get his girl.

CF choked while puffing on two sheesha simultaneously, when Suf commented that she could "handle two" blows at a go. I am beginning to like this guy's wit. We were taking turns photographing each other puffing out sheesha smoke with the digital camera. Mr. Million Theory man finally managed to exhale a large amount of smoke after taking lessons from CF the sheesha guru, a.k.a. as the chimney. Oh, and did I mention that she looked great in that black and red spaghetti top?

The no. 1 cause of haze in Singapore has been found

I actually got a tad bit high and grabbed the sheesha from Suf when he was not done with it. I am horrified at my reaction. How rude can I be.

Lethargy finally conquered and I left the group early to get some rest. And here I am at 1:19 am, blogging this away. The transformation of a blogging addict begins.

What is missing now to complete the night is a glass of Macallan on the rocks.

I think I am still possesed by a ghost of a poet, albeit a lousy one too.