It
is half an hour past five and I’m on a bus homeward. Traffic turns out to be
forbidding, I’m stuck within its wrath. I look out the window. I notice this
silent lake. An often-ignored sight of tranquil waters. I watch its smooth
surface as it seems to wave towards me, but it never comes. The sun himself is
reflected on this liquid mirror of wonder. Calm. So calm. I may watch it all
day and feel like only a second had passed. A timely blessing in an infuriating
crisis of cars and right of way. What a picturesque view. Something I would
want to share to my girl if I had one. I sit there. On a rock bus-seat, maybe
the hardest I’ve ever sat on. Fifteen minutes pass, but I don’t care. I enjoy
the view. The dynamic wrinkles form an endless cycle and shift. They aren’t
wrinkles at all. Slowly, the sun comes down. The evening is arriving. Still on
the same exact position for almost an hour now. Don’t I love the Philippine
roads? Before the sun completely fades away, everything is perfect. The skies,
the birds, and of course, the lake. I put my headphones on to listen to my
favorite song. This shall make perfect even more perfect than the perfection of
the latter perfect which seems not to be perfect enough so it shall be more
perfect. It plays. Lyin’ Eyes by Eagles. God. It’s going to be awesome. Here
comes Glenn Frey… and right at the moment Glenn begins to be heard, the bus
moves about seventeen meters forward, banishing the view of the lake and facing
me to a morbid and unpainted wall vandalized with phallic drawings. Lots of
them. Lots.
The late Glenn Frey, ladies and gentlemen. Rest in peace, champ!
Courtesy : NY Daily News
-Rain Check
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