Skinhead Boy

We hold hands as soon as we are out of sight. We exchange meaningful smiles, smiles that carry promises, smiles that tease, smiles that are there simply because we are so happy.

It's hot and dark and the alley is filled with the cooking smells - inasal, sinigang, adobo, grilled lamb chops, roast duck, garlic.

We make our way to the heart of the alley and I can't get over him. This skinhead boy with the long legs and washboard tummy. I brush against him just to feel him and he brushes back.

He pulls me inside one store in the alley and asks me, "What do you want to eat?"

"Anything," I say.

He takes a good look at all the food spread out and as he is choosing, I lean on him and put my arms around his waist and tell him, "I love you, Skinhead Boy."

He leans over for a long, wet kiss.