Day 176

They were the age of 12 and 13. Probably. They were strangers. Could even be scavengers when the sun sleeps. But before dusk, they were just kids. And the streets were their playground. Boy and girl hung by the jeepney’s overhead bar. By the estribo, the boy sits at the footstep, his hand on his face posed to suck his thumb. He was sniffing something. The girl played more around the jeepney entrance, hopping on the step, hanging on one hand, and awkwardly dancing around the pole in traffic. Occassionally, she posed her hand in the same way the boy did, a figment of their infant days and a hint of their poverty. It could be nothing, you thought. But when the girl looked at you, you got scared for your dear life, clenching your iced drink and putting it down after a last good sip.

Advertisements