If I wasn’t running late, I would have paid more attention to the cab driver’s story.

“What a waste,” he confided a minute after I got in. “A woman asked me if he could bring her to Pasay.” The driver refused; he was nearly done with his shift and was about to head back to Cubao.

And it was a beautiful woman, he said, still reliving the conversation. The girl was young and a little round. While we were hurtling along EDSA, he gestured how her buttocks jiggled when she walked.

The driver, on the other hand, was old and tired-looking. He looked like the type who’d go drinking all night when not driving, and was the rowdiest drunk guy when he had downed a few bottles.

“And she fluttered her eyes at me,” he confided to me. “As if that kind of flirting would change my mind!”

Just about that time, the cab radio started playing “Bakit” by Imelda Papin, with it’s familiar chorus: “Kung liligaya ka sa piling ng iba?” The song sounded very apt for that man.

“You weren’t born yet when that song came out,” he told me, obviously assuming I was younger than my actual age. “They used to play that in the provinces. People would dance to this song, wearing flared pants.” These were the stories I heard from the mother, while growing up.

I wanted to humor the driver and tell him I still wear flared pants, but I was in a hurry and I’m still tired from the trip back from Baguio to Manila that afternoon.