He was about nine, and his brother maybe four. But I'm sure they wore matching shirts that are red and white. His left arm was wrapped around his little brother's shoulder, in what was an affectionate display of brotherly love, and his right hand was holding a half empty bottle of beer. The air was thick with good cheer and suffocating with the residual smoke from exploded firecrackers. It was deafening, too, with Really Terrible karaoke singing and vainglorious Judas Belts, Atomic Big Triangulos, Mother Rockets, Goodbye Philippines, and similar prohibited firecrackers that are better off confining little shit kids in crowded emergency rooms. And, like the previous celebrations of the incoming year, I am still hearing that one hit wonder Virna Lisa belting "Magkaisa" somewhere. Whoever hired that DJ should be drowned in gunpowder. This is because the People's Power Revolution was nearly thirty years ago, and he still doesn't have any good songs to usher in 2016.
Anyway. Happy New Year from the smaller intestines of Pasig City.
