Morality

On the bus to Cubao earlier this afternoon, I was worried about two men who were talking about how easy it was to pick pockets in buses–they were even making loose demonstrations among themselves. I was terrified; my insides turned cold, like a shroud of ice settled over my guts. I was sure that at a certain point in the trip they’d stand up with guns held out and by the end of the ride I’d be stranded in Cubao without even a bag that would at least make me look like I hadn’t just been robbed.

Now that I look back on it, though, after scrutinizing their clothing, I’m starting to think they were the exact opposite of what I thought they were: instead of robbers, they were probably cops.

Although, in hindsight, nowadays you’d be hard-pushed to tell the difference between the two.

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