On the other side of EDSA there is an almost obscure restaurant named Barriotic. I have never eaten there. I suspect that it is patronized by blue-collar workers and employees in the vicinity.

Over the past few years, however, I have dreamt of eating alone at a small table inside that restaurant. It is daytime, and the windows let the bright sunshine in.

In both dreams I am sitting with a male companion, someone whose face I have never seen before in real life. He is showing me a document, and it is of utmost importance. I cannot recall what is in the document, but it seems to be a layout of the rest of my life.

One of these days I must cross EDSA and saunter over to that restaurant. Alone.