Jojo wanted to check on Tiny downstairs. But the guest bedroom door remained closed. He’d heard Pilita Corrales’ songs being played in the room. Tiny only played the traditional love songs when he was depressed. He knocked softly then cracked the door open when Tiny didn’t answer. Tiny slept, curled up in a ball. He closed the door and prided himself that he didn’t make any noise.
He walked to the dining room table. His father and mother sat eating their breakfast of longanisa, garlic fried rice, and fried eggs sunny side up.
“Good morning,” his mother said. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Tiny’s still asleep.” Jojo eyed the coffee and the pan de sal. His mother dipped her bread in the coffee as he grabbed a cup and poured coffee from the carafe. He was happy it was brewed coffee on the
