May gulay!

May gulay

AROUND LUNCHTIME my stomach was growling—borborygmi, it's scientifically called, though nobody uses that word anymore, except me, because I like to brag—and I imagined the cakes and iced tea and chicken and rice I was going to eat, and the friends I was to eat them with, people I haven't seen in a while, and I felt, at that point, that I missed them, my emotions stirred by the scenery I saw as the jeepney sped at full speed, which made me think of how the landscape looked before the new buildings were erected—still lush with greenery, as in the countryside, peaceful, and dangerous because it looked like a perfect spot for rape: dark at night, with hardly any passersby to witness and eventually report the crime.

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