He was sprawled on the curb where jeepneys turned to go south. He wore sunglasses and a yellow sando amidst the breeze of December. He had his denim pants tucked in brown leather boots. He had one hand limp and lifeless and the other inside his crotch. He was either laying there incredibly drunk or dead, a few insects flying just beside his shoes.
(writing practice inspired by unphotographable.com)