My Wednesday-afternoon-at-the-internet-cafe ritual started innocently enough. Between chatting up a storm with parents-turned-yayas and spending quiet me-time at the museum, I took the road frequently traveled by Counter Strikers and took up a corner at the internet cafe. Considering my addictions (coffee, Farmville and eavesdropping), I was naturally hooked: life does have a way of happening at the internet cafe.
Today, my wandering ears zeroed in on this girl who was giving her (I presume) husband a running and tiresome documentary of their financial whatnots. The husband couldn't probably get a word in, because for the better part of an hour, it was just her talking about budgets and expenses and the high cost of living. And how his remittance would be most welcome. blah blah blah.
A group of college kids came in and drowned out the girl's protracted soliloquy. They're talking Counter Strike, terrorism and weapons of mass destruction here. Before I could morph into the Goddess of Strife, however, they run out of internet-cafe cash and leave, plotting, perhaps, their next terror attack.
I am now left to eavesdrop on the guy who is chatting away in hopes of coming up with the perfect Super Lotto combination. He has 30 minutes, he says, before he has to stand in line at the lotto outlet.
Alas, I had to leave before he could spew out the "perfect" numbers.