The other night, I was eating the last bar of chocolate that my wife brought home. There was but one Baby Ruth left. I couldn't bear looking at it, sitting there in the cold fridge, all by its lonesome. My wife has never liked them so I started eating the lone bar.

I could understand why she didn't like them. I mean Baby Ruths have got to be the most contorted pieces of chocolate you'll ever see. But it still chocolate. I couldn't resist. Lately, I've been binging on sweets. It's been 5 months since I quite coffee and cigarettes. I guess my subconscious is fixating on sweets to compensate for the loss.

Speaking of coffee and cigarettes, I recall a few times in my life when they were indenspensable. It was when I was working for a bakery. Actually, it was our practicum. Our whole class embarked on a business venture as a last requirement of our Entrepreneurship course. Coffee and cigs were abundant, even late into the night and in the early morning hours that preluded the actual baking of bread. While we waited for the dough to rise, the boys would often gather into a circle and play pusoy dos or some other card game, pitting spare change against pure skill. Often, the amount of money didn't matter as much as the camaraderie the game inspired.

Which was more than you could say for the old folks I knew then who gambled all night and on through the middle of the next day. These people were so into gambling that they only left their chairs for a quick pee and nothing else. They usually paid 'tong' to the owner of the house where they played. Gambling (that is, without a franchise from the government) is illegal, so they resort to hiding in residences. If the 'tong' is high enough, the owner of the house provided free coffee or even meryenda (often pansit or some other light snack). The freebies provided the convenience needed to keep the high-rollers playing all-night long.

There are always the moderates, though. Some players of the local game called Kwaho never really gamble for money. Money is a secondary concern. Often, they exchange gossip about celebs and their neighbors while they play. They traded recipes while they joke about how much one player is losing. There are even times when you would catch them giggling like little children when they try to guess how many Copas or Oros they have in each other's hand. It's an uncanny form of bonding for the old folks. Hmmmm.....Come to think of it, Baby Ruths kinda have a strange semblance to the club wielded by the Sotang Bastos. :::giggle, giggle::: If you know what I'm talking about, then you know why I snickered (pun intended).