The last passenger has gotten off, an old woman carrying a smelly basket, and now I’ve a mind to turn back and go the way I came. I take a quick view of the side of the road ahead of me, and another quick look at the road to my back to check for any coming traffic, a truck or any other vehicle heading towards my side of the road.
Through the Ray-Ban which I am using to guard my eyes from the glare and the dust of the road, I’m glad to note that the road is clear on both sides—it would be a cinch to turn back. But an empty tricycle drives up behind me and positions to make a U-turn, with the intention, I gather, to go back the same way it came, pick up any passengers on the way back to town to the parking place which the new mayor, the Honorable Ferdinand M. Chiong, is planning to improve according to the best standard.
My elation quickly fades, overruled by another feeling—one of disappointment. If I go on back as I had planned and Inting-Sana’s son is going to do the same thing—any driver would, and as I often hear this told among drivers themselves—we would be racing each other down that road, a race to pick up passengers, and I am not sure there’d be any at this time. Or if there are, how many would there be? At the same time it occurs to me that on one hand, I could choose not to turn back.
Let Inting-Sana’s son go ahead—for I certainly won’t allow him to get the better of me on the road—I myself will drive farther up this road to Sitio Buwabog, where hopefully a creature with the finest, smoothest skin is, at this moment, hanging out. Relax, take a breather from this tiresome, wearying, dangerous occupation— driving a tricycle,
ONE DAY ON THE ROAD
a trade that most people look down upon, tyrannized at any time by the riding public, and persecuted by bigger vehicles along the road. Still, on another consideration, it wouldn’t be right for me to yield here, for after all, I got to Sitio Inamo-an first, this place which is part of Barangay
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