And even toads will cross my path.

This evening alone I’ve had heavy rain, a flash flood of sorts and dinner at KFC, which is preferably left to your discretion, dear reader, lest you find particular pleasure in getting me grounded for spending unnecessarily.


I arrived home at nine to a puppy that eagerly awaited my return so that he could pounce on my feet, to nibble and to bite and to slobber over, and it is high time I remind myself that in the future, my Rastafarian dog will eventually fall into a huge build-up of libido, and it’s best that I start training him to leave my legs alone.


I sat down at my laptop and I found these words written on a document I almost deleted;


When we talk about the world, what do we really talk about?


It took me awhile to remember what I wrote it for, so I looked up at some old hand-written essays and found a forgotten beginning to a short story. I typed it down on the laptop and remembered that I did it before, once upon a time, and ran a search. Voila, the document was there, strangely at the tucked at the corner of my documents folder in the way I wouldn’t notice. Now I read what I wrote and I forgot how to actually end it.


But have we really ever talked about the World?


Afraid not. And I think he deserves some sort of respect and commemoration.


* * * * *


It hadn’t really stopped raining, but it had dwindled into a drizzle nonetheless, and it was safe enough for me to make for the LRT station without being completely drenched. In a night where it is dark and shunned by the grace of moonlight and lampposts, a drizzle somewhat doesn’t seem to exist, not in sight, not even in touch, because as the wind took over it was a completely deluge of chill and dampness.


But not every part of the street is deprived of light, and eventually there was a streetlight bright enough for me to make out most of the way, and it was then when the toad hopped out of the shadows and through the gap between my feet, either completely unawares or completely unafraid, which is not quite the way toads are supposed to behave.


And I was there bemused and perplexed somewhat, wondering there if there is a superstition that states that if a toad hops between your feet, you might get something out of it. And if there IS something like this, then I got myself a story, only that I wished I got some money instead. Aren’t toads supposed to be lucky?