On Any Pathetic Saturday Night

On Any Pathetic Saturday Night, a group of bubbly sisters make an appearance at Dome, Lot 10. Joining them is the rest of the 80% gay customer crowd, each with their usual pink circle. Flaunting the latest fashion, the best make-up, and the most perfect hair-do, the War of Glances heats up as the gay occupancy rate climbs further to 90% and beyond.

Conducted in a multitude of improvisations, it ranges from incessant checking on the magazine racks (just an excuse to allow for the head to turn and catch the charming object that just have to sit at the most inconvenient of angles), or discreet yet carefully spaced out stares of passing objects on the walkway, or long overdue looks that stubbornly linger on to the outlines of objects sitting within convenient ranges of the eyes and neck.

Peals of laughters and a multitude of noises choke the air amidst the soothing cafe music, yet the War of Glances remain well within its dark and quiet vacuumed space. It is an agenda hidden behind the thick curtains of a play in its glorious replay in front of admiring audiences. The undercurrent of hope (to see) and desire (to be seen) is too overwhelming, such as every action is carefully cheorographed, each expression carefully manufactured and each reaction carefully studied and processed.

Yet, the exchange of chemistry, as subtle as they may be, almost never materialise into anything beyond the War of Glances. Feelings are internalised and emotions are carefully shefted into the darkest corner of the universe, for any hint of self-initiated admiration is a testimony of vulnerability, leading to possible side-effects such as a bruised ego.

The War of Glances are fought with minimal water consumption, as it takes a 2-3 hour experience to reduce full glasses of fruit juice or coffee to empty containers that immediately become the target of enthusiastic waiters who waste no time in zapping them away from the table. Tuck the soul back into the safe enclave of the heart as the bill arrives, and the War of Glances draws to a close.

On Any Pathetic Saturday Night at Dome Lot 10, who says this is about catching up with buddies over a cup of ice mocha?