ONE SMOOTH RIDE
by Shannia A. Bernal
L
ooking at the blurring houses is slicing the whole day into bite-sized pieces. Recalling the taste of sweet and salty events and the daytime talks with daytime people. Slowly digesting the dark crawling in the avenue. The fireflies awakened in their usual posts remain unblinking despite the swift vehicles. Drowsy but still in wonder, the smooth slope is the recess between the conscious and the unconscious. A jeepney ride with empty spaces and a few faceless neighbors, silent but full of thought bubbles casting different translations of how the day went. The humming engine sings the lullaby of home. Almost close, the path looks brighter upon dreaming of the destination. F
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DAPITAN
