Alone But Not Unheard: Gustavo’s Nighttime Ritual

Gustavo sinks into the old outdoor chair in his garage, the one that’s slightly crooked but still holds him like it remembers. The street outside is quiet, save for the occasional flicker of the lamppost and the distant hum of a car engine. He unwraps a Snow Bear mint, places it on his tongue, and lights a Chesterfield cigarette with practiced ease.

The first drag is long. He exhales slowly, watching the smoke drift toward the dark corner of the property.

“Been a long day,” he says, voice low. “You seem to be in a good mood tonight.”

He pauses, eyes fixed on the shadows. No reply, of course. But he waits anyway.

Micromanaged and Alone: One Man’s Drive Through Office Life and Traffic

Gustavo’s fingers were still stained with printer ink when he slid into the driver’s seat of his aging sedan. The dashboard blinked its usual warnings—low fuel, overdue maintenance—but he barely noticed. His mind was already elsewhere, tangled in the knots of another exhausting day at the office.

The engine hummed as he merged onto the freeway, Manila’s traffic already thick with impatience. He gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw clenched, thoughts spiraling.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered, thinking of his supervisor.