Making magic
I was poaching an egg for breakfast and remembered where it came from. A nice man on a wheelchair, who hails from Bacolod, handed me a tray of 30 Grade A eggs during Apolinario Mabini’s Birthday Parade—to keep the rain away.
I was poaching an egg for breakfast and remembered where it came from. A nice man on a wheelchair, who hails from Bacolod, handed me a tray of 30 Grade A eggs during Apolinario Mabini’s Birthday Parade—to keep the rain away.
One night, after watching an opera, my friend Mariel and I were hungry. It was past 1 a.m. Only the Manila Hotel Tap Room was still open for chow. It was our only option if we didn’t wish to appear ridiculous in our spangled semi-formals. Although we were already women of a certain age and trying-hard sophisticates, I still felt a slight unease about being without a male escort at that witching hour.
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