Journal of August 20

Mi amigo Pedro S. I met him at the Dainty Resto along Session road, where they also sell the country's most popular ice cream. He was drinking black barako coffee along with two young men. They were sitting close to the north wall of the restaurant.The formica-topped table was only for three people and I had to pull a chair from another table and sat myself . I was facing mi amigo whose back was towards the wall. He introduced me to the men: PLJ is one of the best writers in the language. They nodded in acknowledging my presence.

Mi amigo Pedro he said Lito de Francia has just    taken a bath and would be arriving at 10:oo. Together with Rey Quidangen, another writer, we would be going to Funeraria Paz where the body of Clare Sumahit, an Ilokano writer, who died of cancer was lying in state. But Rey would be going there ahead of us.

Lito arrived at 10:30, a few minutes after the two young men left. We shook hands and hugged while mi amigo Pedro sipped his black coffee on a glass. Mi amigo Pedro ordered black coffee for us but knowing my preference, Lito said it's tea for his kumpadre.

Lito went to the counter and looked for his favorite American bread at the glassed display booth.

Mi amigo Pedro was supposed to be footing the bill. I looked at him and he smiled, saying Lito will be paying our bill.

Lito came back to our table. We talked about Claire who died of cancer of the breast and what we as a writers' group would be doing during her last night at the funeral parlor.

The waiter came with the bread which had been sliced into three parts and put on three small plates.

We finished eating the bread and sipping our coffee. The waiter came and cleared the table. Lito went to the counter to pay our bill. Dutch treat, I said and pulled a 100 peso bill from my wallet, gave it to Lito but he did not take it.

I looked at mi amigo Pedro and he with a smile said, Lito is going to pay the bill.
We left the restaurant as a long line was forming at the ice cream section.

Mi amigo Pedro he hailed a taxi. "Idiay Funeraria Paz," he told the driver.
Lito sat beside the driver, instead of mi amigo Pedro. He was smiling at me as he leaned back at the seat. Nakalamangka manen, I said to myself

It was heavy traffic at the bottom of Session all the way to Naguilian Road.