Post-Concert Anecdotes

After the Cigarettes After Sex concert (which felt like being serenaded by a ghost in love with you), my friend and I wandered into a place called Fat Cat. The name immediately gave me a good feeling.
The place was upstairs, hidden enough to feel like a secret place. The stairway was lined with stickers like a mosaic. Inside, it was small and cozy, dimly lit in an Instagram-filter way, with soft jazz playing in the background. It’s a nice spot for catching up with friends, especially on a weekday when it’s quiet and not too crowded. I had one drink. Just one. And somehow I was already slightly dizzy. Which is crazy, because I swear I have amazing alcohol tolerance.
We stayed until just before their closing at 1 am, then decided to head toward the nearest McDo which is actually not that near. A minute or two of walking cleared the dizzy spell. We sat there in the fast-food chain, dead-eyed but content, slowly working through our fries while waiting for the first bus to Batangas like we were in the closing scene of some indie coming-of-age movie. Fade to black.
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