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The Late Malate      Click Thumbnail to View Larger Image Is Malate dead? It was she who cradled our "single-ness" when we decided to go stag during JS Prom, lugging a beer with the left and a cigarette on the right, we puffed and coughed the night away. In her bosoms, we resolved our teenage problems. True to her name, everything was a-ok after alcoholic remedies. She stepped back from the limelight for more than half a decade only to resurface. But androgynous punks in leather underwear, pierced body parts to magnets beware, Malate welcomed a new set of inhabitants. They came in sandos, shorts and spartans. Once again, she went underground only to find out chic restos were opening left and right. Oh what a welcome sight. The streets now combed with beemers and chedengs. The air nary of the waft of stinky jutes, but with perfumado urbanites. Malate was reborn. Now, Malate is again in comatose, a sick lady, seriously sick, awaiting the monotonous piercing sound of a flat line. Can she survive this time ? Rather, can we survive without her ? Bookmark this post on:
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