There's something surreal about finding your way out of the mall after a last full show. Dim hallways with store signages crafting pockets of light. Going down several flights of escalators with the occasional security guard tracing where you're going. And then crossing the exit to find a light drizzle, a cool breeze as you pull over your hoodie and brave the midnight streets.
The jeepney suddenly stopped. A cab did the same a couple of seconds before us. We rushed to the other lane, passed by the cab to find a red box-type Toyota who did a counterflow. Weird. We were just beside a flyover. How could he possibly think of doing a counterflow? Or better yet, how in the world did he do it? Even weirder was how nonchalant the box-type's driver was. An old Chinese guy, probably in his 60's, platinum hair and all. He was sitting upright. No trace of worries in his face, clueless that he was actually in the wrong lane.
Not a minute has passed since that scene when all of a sudden, we found ourselves in front of a cement-mixer truck, parked perpendicular to the street.
And upon reaching home, as I clasped the lever to open our gate, a stray cat jumped on me from the dark then slyly walked away.
It was Tuesday night... make that Wednesday "morning."
And now I'm at work, typing away, waiting for this laptop's screen to turn blue and restart on its own for the nth time. I pause and ask, how did I get here again?