We were back at the shophouse. The heat pervaded the atmosphere with a vengeance, as if trying to counter the fans, which had invaded its territory.

    Marc came over. Despite his pre-made up state, his well-defined bare torso had started to attain some slickness. He smiled, flashing his white even teeth. "I heard that the photographer's got a problem with his filters," he said.

    "It'll be settled soon," Nirmala replied. Marc shrugged.

    "Just hang around," I told him.

    He took out a cigarette and started to walk towards Audrey but suddenly turned around. He sat down next to me.

    "I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said. I smiled politely. "It's alright."

His hands were finely formed. He had long tapered fingers with well-shaped fingernails, drumming lightly on his thigh. He smiled slightly when he noticed I was staring at them.

    "Do you play the piano?" I asked him.

    "No, I play the saxophone," he replied.

    "Really? I've always wanted to learn the saxophone," I said. "How many years has it been?"

    He furrowed his brow slightly. A quirky smile formed on his lips. "Since I was fifteen."

    I smiled. He had beautiful warm eyes.