He couldn’t recall anything besides the last couple of steps before reaching the third gate. The third gate was already closed when he arrived. It wasn’t that late yet, not even midnight, but the stairs under the footbridge made the third gate more distinctly darker than the rest of the city. He remembered reaching for the barrel, feeling the rush of traffic behind him, and yet in front seemed like a different world. The gate was a portal to an eerier dimension, something scarier than the streets of wild Manila at night.
He just wanted to go home.
He continued walking, sometimes slowly, if only so that he didn’t have to stop completely. Something told him never to do that. That what was in front of him earlier was now behind him, all around him. He had to keep moving.
This road was safer than outside the gate and cars no longer passed. He could walk beyond the pavement safely and he doubted any guard would reprimand him. Why he was out at this time had already left his mind. At best it was empty. Occasionally, as in after three steps or four, he’d remember the third gate:
The sound of the cars honking in traffic, or sometimes as they speed through the almost empty road;
The second of satisfaction right before he reached the gate, knowing that he was always most. Wherever he was from didn’t matter. He was almost home;
And, of course: the sound of heavy feet getting closer, the blinding glare of cars passing by, the weight of his heart heavily pumping blood throughout his system, the shadows he couldn’t make out.
As he passed by the guards, he thought of waving at them to say goodnight, but the looks on their faces said otherwise. One was fast asleep; it was way past midnight anyway. Another’s, he couldn’t quite understand.
He continued the path to his apartment along the dark street. Never-mind them. I’m almost home. He remembered to jump over the spot where his body lay the previous night. It was still there.