A decameron at least.
That is the required number of days in applying for a non-immigrant visa for Thailand.
It was chaos until finally, the online payment button was discerned by The Ironman while engaged in the apprehension of Ted Kaczynski amidst a slew of emailed correspondence.
But in lieu of a visa, 10 bottles of ice cold beer crushed an Entered Apprentice's frozen slices of salmon sashimi instead.
The decameron looms.
A champion emerged in the podium of Comparative Bid Analysis to qualify for a substance screening and an outline review.
But the entry permit remains in limbo, an eerieness that spooked the weekly catch-ups, scary enough to resurrect a lost driver's license --- rabies-free and decorated with a refrigerated bunch of grapes and reheated litsong manok bathing in a cup of kinamatisang kalabaw and a saucer of menudo that were imbued with the gaminess of carinderia dinakdakan and kilaweng kambing.
The Royal Thai Embassy acknowledged payment made, enough assurance for the The Phantom Biker to keep to his morning routine of clandestine disposals and provisioning for the evenings.
A scandal of Korean nipples and butts packed printed travel documents in a 2-page note about the ritual of the First Degree.
For the first time, breakfast at the San Lorenzo Sunday Market tasted of uncertainty.
Yet we walked on along car-free Ayala Avenue where I lose my thoughts counting joggers with the sexiest outfit and those with the darkest armpits.
It may be a tough call, chewy like the casing of New York-style hotdogs at Paseo de Roxas.
But when life is pelted with lemons, have a ramen feast and that's what we did before checking in my Philippine departure and Thai arrival cards...
