Coming Home

A glass of chilled orange juice, a bowl of cereals and a freshly brewed coffee can do wonders in the morning. The combination of vitamins, carbs and caffeine has been the only thing that is able to get me running at the beginning of the day. With Bob Sentosa on 102.10FM in the background I put on my coat, grab my laptop, the keys that are lying on the table and make my move. And yeah, ... not to forget to pick up the completely rainwater-soaked newspaper from the doorstep. Just another day.

Again major delays on the interstate - as usual. Why the heck does everyone have to get back home at the same time? Again I'm having this I-knew-it-but-still-wanted-to-give-it-a-shot feeling. I should seriously start thinking about taking the subway. There's a cute brunette chic in an white Altima next to me. She's singing along with the radio, so I try to find the same station, but to no avail. Finally I have reached home and am fiddling in the laptgop case looking for the keys - ah, got them. I insert the doorkey into the lock and turn. It doesn't open. One more time. The key wouldn't turn. I check whether I am using the right key and try again. Nothing. I peep through the kitchen window and realise that nothing appears to be familiar. And still I am sure this is the place I left this morning. I turn right to look at the place where I had put up my name, next to the doorbell. Nothing.




An empty space ...

instead of
Memonji