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My friend Rene hails a taxi on the other side of the street. The driver signals him to cross, meaning he will take passengers. So Rene gets into the cab. “Sa Fort po,” he tells the driver. The driver scratches his head to signify that much as he’d like to oblige, he has to decline. “Ay, pupunta kasi ako sa LTFRB para magpa-seal ng metro.”
“Ganoon ho ba?” Rene says in a pleasant tone of voice. “Eh di sasakay na ako papuntang LTFRB para i-report kayo.”
“Bakit naman?” the driver says.
“Hindi niyo ba napanood sa news kagabi?” Rene says. “7pm at 11pm. Sabi ho nila, pag may taxi na ayaw tumanggap ng pasahero, i-text sa LTFRB hotline.”
The driver scratches his head again, to signify that he would rather not oblige, but has no choice. Or maybe his dandruff  is eating his brain. He mutters darkly to himself—something about passengers who make his life difficult.
Rene never stops smiling. “Pagpunta ho ninyo sa LTFRB, itanong ninyo kung ano ang hotline para sa mga pasaherong makulit na ayaw bumaba.”
The taxi brought him to The Fort without further incident.