In a quiet suburban neighborhood in Laguna, the sound of birds, children at play, and neighbors at work paints the perfect Saturday morning. But for Gustavo, coffee in hand and cigarette smoke curling in the air, that peace is fragile—easily broken by the sudden buzz of his phone.
A quiet Saturday morning unfolds in the neighborhood. Birds are chirping, chickens are clucking, and kids are playing in the sunlit streets. The golden rays kiss the dampened community, still fresh from last night’s rain.
Inside a well-lit room, Gustavo—a rotund man known for his quirks—clutches his pillow and lets out a calm groan as he stretches his limbs. For once, he wakes without the shrill scream of his alarm clock. The silence is strange but comforting.
Yawning and scratching his belly, Gustavo staggers toward the kitchen. His morning ritual begins: three spoonfuls of coffee, equal parts cream, no sugar. Mug in hand, he steps into his garage, the cool air wrapping around him like a gentle embrace.
Neighbors wave and greet him as he lights his Chesterfield cigarette, pairing it with sips of his perfectly mixed coffee. A smile spreads across his face, his eyes gleaming with rare contentment. The smoke rises and dances lazily in the air as the world hums in harmony around him.
The birds are still chirping. The chickens are still clucking. The children’s laughter carries on the breeze. Everything feels right.
Until—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Gustavo pulls out his phone, takes a drag, and glances at the screen.
"Guys! Excited for our training day today. Please be at the venue by 9 AM. See you."
His smile falters. The peace cracks.
He takes another sip of coffee, another drag of smoke, and then—
"FUUUUUUCC..."
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| A perfect suburban morning in the Philippines—broken by one familiar voice. |
The perfect Saturday morning is gone. Training day has arrived.
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