no matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it:
it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades.
— HARUKI MURAKAMI, "KAFKA ON THE SHORE"
test shots by devina. the background is the white wall in her room.
he was simple. he wore a pair of equally simple thin-framed glasses. he had a friendly smile. he wasn't exactly a beauty but his charm had moved an air of magic surrounding him. his voice was something very ordinary, but those were his eyes that gave him away. his teeth were imperfect but in that imperfection alone was another spell that ended up enhancing his smile. when he asked me what would i like to order, i was about to answer 'that fucking smile of yours' when my tongue surpassed my head by answering: "tall iced vanilla latte."
that was a sunny afternoon when i decided to fulfill my caffeine fix. no cloud could be seen.for a moment the sun resembled a golden brooch hanging on the dense blueness, drenching an area close to it in the fine shade of white, as if it was about to pierce a hole in the stratosphere.
anyway, let alone that arrogant sun— because here on earth i'd found its personification: that "latte sweetheart" of mine was a real charmer; that glitter of his resembled Nan Jing road's colorful lights after dark.
for K., Starbucks barista.
