He Came to Us in a Dream. . .
. . .And he wore the same shirt with floral prints, like the one he wore when we saw him last. He might as well be saying how come we don’t try to make contact with him, why don’t we write about his arse.
He was our third cousin, and we were classmates in grade school. He belonged to the attractive side of our gene pool. He was full of mischief, as far as cousins go, one time suggesting to us to bathe and just leave the soap lather on, so we could have a nice skin. Whoa, what a joke it was.
The moment he was through with Grade VI, he transplanted himself to Manila and landed a gig as a house help for a well-to-do family. And because he was good-looking, one of the daughters fell for him and…
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