Be still my heart

Pitter-pat. Rilo Kiley and my belated enthusiasm. I can't stop listening. They're a little bit like the New Pornographers if only NP weren't so damn weird. Sex and drinking and monkeys (but never in one song, thank goodness) and infectious jangly guitars. Pitter-pat. Postal Service's "Be Still My Heart," B-side to "We Will Become Silhouettes," will rule the world by Christmas. A flurry of hopeful heartbeats. Like a mile-wide stethoscope was pointed to a city on Valentine's day and amplified the walks down the street, the first of a million kisses. Pitter-pat. Hailing a cab in Sampaloc, killer elbows ready to strike any approaching shadow. I was carefully eyeing the nursing student on my right, most probably in her early twenties, a formidable opponent. True enough, the cab I was waving at drove pass me and the driver rolled down his window for her. After conversing with the driver, she turned to me, smiled (I was glaring at her) and said: Manong, kayo na lang mauna. Naknangpucha. Manong na ako. Pitter-fucking-pat.