Twenty-four years later
We met after twenty-four years. In a restaurant. A well-lighted one where they are discrete and interactive without making you feel you’re being stalked. She looked around and saw the paintings on the walls. ‘Nice paintings,’ she murmured. ‘Yes ma’am,’ said the waiter emerging out of nowhere, ‘the entire décor is inspired by the Southern...
We-can-we-will
My stubble, it’s mine How can I hate that smelly stubble? The unshaven bard sang his song merrily and people clapped. He stroked his trademark prickly stubble and after finishing his song, said, ‘Three cheers for the all-male how-can-I club.’ The next performance was by the all-women why-must-I club and they believed in only protest...
