***
He was wearing nothing but a red hoodie, jeans, and his sun-drenched skin. Hung across his chest was a makeshift drum set. It was all pipes and milk cans strung together to make a living. He walked to the end of the jeepney and sat down upon its steps, willing to help while away the wait of a red traffic light for a price.
He beat away, and even though the sound was drowned out by my iPod and the radio and the interior of the car some of the thumps came in nonsensical rhythm. His face was etched out in singing -loud, tired, desperate.
When he was finished he trooped back into the jeep with a hunched back and his hand outstretched to receive the envelopes he had previously passed around in hopes of charity. He emerged with a handful of ampao envelopes and his drum set still on its string around his shoulder.
The boy walked out into traffic and picked out the contents of the envelopes. His audience was back in the jeepney, briefly amused, and quite certain they weren't going to see the likes of him again. One of them had put a single coin in the envelope, thinking nothing of it.
He pocketed only the amounts he valued, until the coin - not even a peso - was alone on his palm. He knocked his arm back as far as it could go. Then, he tossed it into the sky with frustration and a curse under his breath.
The traffic light shone green.
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