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In modern Makati amid the glass-and concrete district, it is three in the aftemoon and there's anarchy at the crossroads: another power brownout, the traffic lights dead, not a police officer in sight. All semblance of order disappears and a monstrous jam swallows up the once free-flowing intersection. Vehicles converge to cross simultaneously - revving, vying, nudging into the snarl. One elite matron caught in the melee honks loudly, lurches forward, and rages in her air-conditioned vehicle
"Look at you! Macho!"
NO discipline at all! Kanya-kanya!
Everyone out for himself!
Where else in the world!? What a country!"
And so begins the country road fiesta. With smiles beaming under the summer heat, the fruit vendors appear from nowhere with arms wrapped round baskets of succulent Manila mangoes. Six-year-old girls with babes in arms dangle leis of plump, fragrant sampaguitas before every car window. The car-dusters man wanders by, twirling brightly colored pompoms on swizzle sticks. Down the road amid the fast-food outlets, the traffic piles up steadily in the late afternoon. Office workers and shoppers line the sidewalks and wait patient hours for the commuter bus, many biding their time among the burger and hot dog and pastry shops. Itinerant vendors bring on the sweet corn, homemade chicharon (deep-fried pork rind), the evening papers, cigarettes and occasionally balut (duck embryos).
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