I just really dig Manila.

I had been here before.

I have twenty crowns to prove it.

Dr. John doesn't know I'm in town.

It's definitely coffee time.

One of my teeth are playing up, it feels it's going to fall out. Who knows, it might be rotting to the core and the crown might just fall out.

Dr. John bumped up the prices of the crowns on paper and the insurance company reimbursed me.

Dr. John is good like that.

I definitely owe him a visit.

The retard is still lingering outside his practice.

'Can you buy me an Ice Tea,' he asks.

Yes, he remembers me.

I throw him a few pesos and tell him to get on his bike.

He jumps on the nearest Honda Dream.

'Your bike,' I said, 'you dope.'

This feels like home.

Dr. John, I'm here.

At first, he didn't recognize me.

I've shred about ten kilograms since I was last here two years ago.

I'm dressing slightly better, which is a big improvement from the grungy backpacker outfit I use to wear. I wasn't trying to be fashionable, but if you wear the same clothes every day, they do tend to take on a chic poor backpacker look.

Everyone knows backpackers are cashed up and can easily access mummy and daddy's credit card. I guess I"m a bit old for third world citizens to make that assumption.

They just assume I've got cash.

And in some ways, they are right on the money.


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