Seattle’s Best Coffee, Tomas Morato

Tuesday, July 5, 6:44 p.m. to 7:23 p.m.

An ageing woman has a plump foot propped up on a wooden chair. She wears a bright blue baseball cap paired with a lime yellow sando worn over a white shirt. She rakes heavy-lidded eyes over the deepening traffic in Tomas Morato.

A large bag sits on her table, hard plastic with Disney princesses. She stands up and approaches my table, which I share with my friend Cyril, a man with a samurai bun. We sit at the smoking area. yril has been busy typing a comedy script in his black laptop, puffing after every gap.

Woman touches a box of cigarette on the table. Marlboro Menthol. Light. Smoking causes emphysema, it reads.

“Magkano mo nakuha ‘to?”

“Ninety po.”

Woman nods and walks away with those heavy burden of a shoulders. She returns to her table, pulls up a foot, and continues to stare at the traffic.

+

It begins to rain. Thunder erupts. A white Fortuner alarms off, followed by the red Honda Civic beside it. It rips through the air like the deluge. The cars sit across my table. I look around—would anyone bother to turn it off?

Everyone remain focused in their tables; the law students with their book holders and neon lighters, the men in dark hoodies typing, the rest in their mp3s. No one’s eating dinner. And no one’s minding the screaming cars.

Except for a chubby woman in a fitted black dress inside the coffee shop. A band of golden leaves snake through her chest and the rest of the dress. She takes out a pair of car keys and clicks them.

The cars continue to sound off. She stops clicking and resumes tinkering with her phone. Outside, in our space, the alarm blares.

+

A young man in a black hoodie comes out, pods in ears. The sound system competes with the rain. A girl sings a simplified acoustic version of Jason Mraz’s I Won’t Give Up on Us.

Hoodie boy grabs a chair and moves through his playlist, his body fitting the allotted curves of the wooden seat. The rain slowly fades out. The streets litter with the sound of cars, engines, and screeching tires. Honking fills the distance. Acoustic girl continues to croon, louder this time.

+

I bring out a box of chocolate crunchies from the town grocery store down the road. I pull out a disc and unwrap the treat. A little boy in ratty white shirt approaches with strings of sampaguita necklaces.

“Ate bili ka na, pang-kain lang.” He's looking at the box on the table. I pull out a shiny disc and give it to him. “Salamat, Ate.”

He hops away.

+

Another thunder breaks out. The alarms run off again. I look at Chubby Girl but she no longer cares about the sound. She’s beating words in her mobile phone, a wide Samsung Galaxy. Beside her table, a bespectacled girl with long hair speaks non-stop. Not muttering, speaking. Chubby Girl doesn’t answer.

Are they talking to each other? Is Bespectacled Girl talking to someone on the phone? With wireless Bluetooth earphones?

Chubby Girl swipes a finger over her gray laptop. Bespectacled Girl continues to send out words to another universe. Chubby Girl pulls her phone, elbows on the table, the LCD inches away from her face. Bespectacled Girl continues to speak.

Chubby girl smiles while composing a message. She laughs. And turns to Bespectacled Girl. She responds with a few words. They were talking after all.

+

The bright baseball cap approaches the table again. She talks to Cyril, who is now lighting a cigarette. She touches the box again.

“Magdadala ako nito next time. Ninety din,” she says in halting Tagalog. “Sa akin ka na lang kumuha.”

“Sure.”

+

Little ratty rabbit boy returns, mouth full, munching. No more sampaguita.

“Ate, pwedeng pahingi pa.” I open the box. “Pwedeng dalawa?”

Cyril raises an eyebrow. I take out tinfoil discs and give it to the bunny. He speeds off.

“Magsheshare siya sa street friends niya,” I tell Cyril, who has resumed playing with the jumping whale game in my phone.

“Yes. Para cool siya.”

+

A young man in grey hoodie comes into the coffee shop. He scans the crowd: people in separate tables. Gray Hoodie spots his friend—Dark Hoodie boy. He almost runs toward him. And slaps him on the shoulders.

“Friend, nakakaloka ang nangyari sa inyo ni…”  

“Hay nako, nastress nga ako. Kasi naman ganito ‘yun…Nagrarant kasi siya dahil sa project kay Sevilla. Tapos nung ako na, aba, ayaw nang makinig.”

Gray Hoodie lights a cigarette. Dark Hoodie continues.

“Najirits ako. Nagrarant siya tapos ako hindi pwede. Nakakainis kaya.”

“Nakausap ko nga si Cynthia. Akala niya magkaaway tayo nina Janice. Ang sabi ko, hindi kaya.”

“Nagkita kami. Memeykupan niya daw ako.” 

“Ang lala friend, nagsnapchat na naman kayo?”

The Hoodie boys laugh together. Gray Hoodie finishes his stick. They stand up and heads inside the coffee shop. Our table remains the only occupied space in the smoking area.

+

A twin bunny in ratty white sando approaches me with sampaguita.  “Ate, bili ka na.” He’s not moving. I already know what he wants. I pull out two choco crunchies and hand it to him. Ratty bunny friend waits at the end of the balcony. They leave the coffee shop. Cyril makes a face.

“Laylayan people,” Cyril says after the boy runs off. 

“Fail si Leni. Hindi naiangat ang nasa laylayan,” I quip.

Cyril laugh. “Give her time!”