Yesterday while taking the lift back to the apartment (the damn thing takes about 1 min without stops, everyday I regret living on such a high floor. Shitty cellular signal, I once had to stick out my neck outside the window with the handphone to yell at my supplier, birds living on the rooftop stealing the leaves off my plants, idiots stealing my plants and shoes, I could go on and on), I was smsing my cousin.
"Who are you messaging, huh?" Combative, B1 rumbled as I continued pressing at the keys, while studiously ignoring him.
"Chelsea."
He stood there for a while, blinking.
"My cousin, remember?"
"Oh. I thought you meant the football club." Rich, considering this boy does not watch football. I am ironically the one who watches the football in the house, though my interest is limited to the German national team full stop.
"Ya," I said, putting away the phone,"that reminds me, I should sms my lover with the great ass later, his moniker is Arsenal."
"Or should I sms Liverpull, my lover with the long dick?"
He replied, "how about your boyfriend who can benchpress to no end. Manchester?"
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