I'm isolating myself.
I sit outside my hotel on a plastic chair.
Some think I'm the owner of the hotel, other's think I'm the security guard.
I make sign language with the Muslim guard that works at the massage parlor.
He knows I'm always good for a cigarette stick or two.
At the Mini Mart, I watch the midget make his rounds. He clings to the wall and moves a few inches.
He sleeps in an area designated for pot plants. It's a little gap raised outside the minimart. For a normal human being, it would be too tight, for him, it's a perfect fit.
He sleeps on cardboard boxes. His hands are constantly grimy.
It's not like he can just wash them in the toilet. He's a slow mover, at a pace of a turtle, and sometimes enters the Mini Mart to drink a coffee on the stool.
He's a harmless old man who deserves better than this.
He's more a small person than a dwarf. I really wouldn't want to mislead you.
His midget son rides a bicycle with a sidecar. He's intense and best avoided.
There's another midget that crabs along with the help of a wheelchair.
They are all blending into one: Manila, the land of small people.
Maybe I'm suffering from sensory overload.
I've stopped walking. It's just too hard. The dangers are too real.
I can't be bothered. I've only got six days and I want to make it out of here alive.
Manila has been an assault on the senses.
Money is the only thing that cocoons you from the madness.
If you stay alert, you live.
I think of my conjoined twin, Frank and wonder if he's still floating on his back down at Manila Bay.
He's a tough a sack of shit.
I'm told he just pushes any floaters along.
'No time for sentimentality,' he says. I bet he's hanging around the fountain and chatting up ladyboys.
At least someone hasn't lost the edge.
'Toughen up snowflake.'
I'm the snowflake of Manila.
When I'm feeling down I think of my twin brother down at Manila Bay and the old midget outside the Mini Mart.
Now that's an incentive to stay up.
