Jay E. Tria

I was mopping the water leaking from the roof, then, genius that I am, I stood up and banged my hip against the counter. The result is provided, thus: Please tell me that will fade same time as the henna ink. It looks redder and a lot more swollen in real life.

The first time I was there I was aching to go home by the third day. But then I was with half the Espinosa kin, and although my youngest tita was all for banana boat rides and all the other touristy ‘adventures’ required of beach expeditions, there also was my mother, her presence circling like a hawk, censoring all forms of fun. This time I was with my liquor-starved, work-hating, beach-happy bank friends. That’s a great combination of values. We were drinking the first night, in a bar on beanies in the sand. Fun. The second night (ehem, as early…

anyone who’s enjoying the turtle-like crawl along commonwealth avenue these past few days, hands up please, and you are free to comdemn me. i’ve been trying really really hard to be sympathetic about their mourning process, but it’s not so easy when you’re trying to get home after two foiled attempts at watching kimmydora (superduper, you must be embarrassed at how jologs i’m becoming. i am so sorry. it’s these people around me. blackmailers i tell you!!), and it’s eleven o’clock on a friday night and it’s raining. i got home, alone and dead and wet, past one in the…