Hallow Days

Time Space Warp #68

Hey — It’s Toffer.

A few decades ago, the city stopped.
TVs with color bars. Radios white noise.
Streets empty except for dogs and firecrackers.

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Estimated read time: 2 minutes

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Stores closed. Including sari-sari.
You could walk and see metal shutters pulled down.
People at home. Tables full.
You could smell food from the next house.
You could hear someone laughing.

Now, the lights stay on.
The music plays all day.
The air smells like grease and perfume.
The mall floors are being mopped, even on Christmas.

All Saints’. Christmas. New Year.
Hallow days.
Every tenant signs it: open or pay.
Close once, fine.
Close twice, double.
Why? New management.

A guard stands by the glass doors.
A janitor drags a mop through glitter.
A cashier scans toys for someone else’s child.
The speaker plays Silent Night.

The offices upstairs are cold.
People with IDs on lanyards check numbers,
talk about foot traffic,
send reports before midnight.

Outside, workers line up for jeepneys.
Hands full of late Noche Buena.
Shoes wet.
Eyes empty.

This is how the city spends its holidays now:
under light, under orders, under contract.

We built places that never sleep.
And forgot that people do.

Your Friend in Time,
Toffer