Scenes from Luzon Ave.
What I've noticed on my commute to work
The energy of this narrow street always surprises me at 5:30 in the morning. I’m on a motor taxi, and my driver is cautious not to run over anyone’s toes.
It’s a narrow street; not only do the small, tight houses squeeze us, but also the people walking along the side of the road, because the sidewalk is either non-existent or taken by another vendor.
They don’t mean to impede. The residents of this street are morning people by circumstance.
There are little girls in yellow and green-checkered school uniforms, hair still damp and combed back, walking with parents—either dressed for the outside or dressed for the inside—carrying small backpacks with Spongebob designs.
There are men in basketball jerseys—if they decided to put something on at all—lighting cigarettes by the curb, standing by, waiting till their vape shop or salon opens. Meanwhile, women sit in their little shops without a front wall, surrounded by fresh vegetables or, placed in front of them, a slick table of gleaming fish.
Elsewhere, young women, wearing collared shirts with a brand logo stitched on their left breast, stand behind a counter. Standees of celebrity endorsers are in front, whose wholesome poses, juxtaposed to their controversies, create a jarring effect; they probably shouldn’t be smiling so widely on the standee, I admit to myself.
We pass by large, dusty flatbed trucks, parked on the side, surrounded by tired men holding neon energy drinks, probably waiting for the next delivery job. There are ponds of bluish-grey water beside rubbled sidewalks, whose flavor and effect on the human body is an intrusive thought I’d like to lose as often as possible. The avenue’s scent is a mix of exhaust, freshly fried chicken, rotting food, and the drain.
Luzon Ave. stretches on in this rhythm.