by O. Langer
The ferry to Cebu is late.
Every seat in the large waiting room is taken. Those not sitting are stood either against the back wall or in the isles. There’s a white noise of chatter. Behind microphones, by the doorway the tourists will use to embark, are acoustic guitars, a mandolin and a tambourine. In front is a donation box. Few will put in. The hum of talk won’t abate when the performance starts.
The blind band appears; each member with an arm locked in a colleague’s for guidance. All are in the Ocean Jet company uniform of yellow polo and red shorts. Though one is a young man, the songs he’ll sing this evening are hits from long before he was born. Massachusetts, by the Bee Gees, is one.