Think of a place:
The sun is setting over the two-lane highway out of Ternate and Maragondon.
The car is a maroon 1985 Nissan Sentra. Its seats are covered in an ochre ribbed velour. Its plates carry provincial letters, DEV.
There is no motion. We’re sitting here, stalled on the empty road. It’s twilight and then it’s night. I’m 6 or 7. I know it’s scary because my mom says there are bandits.
Later someone will tell me: Caviteños are mean. If you’re driving through and you hit their child or their dog, just keep going.
We’ll be here for hours.