12 Feb 2015


Our lunchtime reprieve that day arrived in the form of a huge plate of cheesy chicken bulgogi. Piled skyward to the heavens, but fizzled, smoked and oozed like molten lava; it promised something far more sinister: let me slide in your oesophagus like it threatened, and give you the third degree right down to your sphincter! Malignant demon!

What were two earthly angels to do? This was our lunch goddamn it, and we were eatin' today. Wiping the salt drops from our cheeks, we delved into the steaming mess; chopsticks and tongues blazing. The next moment, with full bellies in check we came across a sunshine-filled atrium, was this heaven? A sweet daydream?

You decide. Someone's lurking behind the potted palms.