The day before yesterday, I was able to ride home from E. Yesterday, from C. And now from D. I worked in O Blvd. Now, I’m wondering: did the traffic got worse? Or was it always like this in December (due to Christmas) and January (due to the oncoming feast)?
As the festival loomed close, strangers and vendors come to plague the once indifferent streets. Yesterday, I saw this one guy being pulled up like some animal-carcass. He was carried from the street, into the sidewalk. All I heard was the driver’s mumble: “Clumsiness…” So, that’s whom people had been staring at.
Today, on my trip to school, I saw this guy in the sidewalk. His short pants were pulled down — enough to see his peeking maleness. As the vehicle sped close, the sight of the man’s deed became clearer: he was going to do a supposedly private thing in a public space. (Pooh bear Winnie the Pooh bear…)
I have noticed since then, that as traffic got way heavy, and seating space grew scarce, and walking became an everyday inevitability — that the streets change. First, there were more vendors. Then, came the beggars. Then, bag-packing foreigners and prostitute-tugging ones. The former consisted of young adults, while the latter resembled bellied cops. I think: the street affords you with different views if you care to look and observe. The view is not the same as what you see when you swiftly pass through the wheeled boxes. Its irregular pavements, characterized by stubborn tree roots, dried puddles, and fairly foot-friendly spaces, made my leg hurt.
Yet, when you get home tired and hungry, and the lingering scent of barbecued chicken meets you, the whole street-affair vanishes, and your priorities shift to making a standard sauce made of soy sauce, lime and some chili.
Until you decide to go out and venture into the streets once again.