The greatest marketing ploy is at hand. While some kids entertain futile thoughts of Santa Claus making a back entry to hand them presents, some grown ups know it's high time to take matters into their own hands. Times are hard.

Thus my paranoia rises again from its cold grave. Being a hold up victim last March, my cranium compels me to leave my bed as early as possible, sleepy or not, than lay myself open to the horrible possibility of feeling that sickening silver pressed against my cheek again.

From Divisoria, I decided to go straight to the office for a snooze before my OT off. My legs were screaming for a massage and my eyes were dying for a shuteye. As if on cue, a scary looking man sat beside me. He was no threat until the supposedly straight crawl from Taft Avenue to Buendia made too many turns. In spite of my struggles to feign my panic, my neck continued to make unnecessary extensions along the alien route. He took notice.

At last, I caught sight of the familiar mean street of Buendia. My body language must be revealing how eager I was to get off but unsure of which unloading area is most ideal. I let my tired feet decide. When I'm just a block away from my desired spot, I felt a finger jab my jacket-protected arm from behind. I froze. Fortunately, the kid asked the driver to halt so I followed suit, my eyes closed from extreme unease as I pass by him.

I heard him hiss as I whisked away. I did not dare to look back. Besides, I had to save myself from two racing buses in front of me.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home