It was a cool, quiet evening—one of those rare days when the city seemed to exhale. I boarded the bus home from work, grateful for the unusual calm. The vehicle was only half-full, a welcome contrast to the usual chaos of rush hour. The driver was sealed off in his little cubicle up front, and we passengers were scattered like leaves on a still pond. Among them was a man who immediately caught my eye—late 60s, wearing a crisp white cap that read ' Chosen One' in bold black letters. He was flipping through a newspaper with such frantic energy it looked like he was searching for something long lost—or perhaps arguing with the headlines themselves. Opposite him sat another older man, though you wouldn't know it from his clothes. He was dressed like a teenager—like someone clinging to relevance with both hands. Then, out of nowhere, the man in the cap spoke, loud and clear, as if addressing a courtroom rather than a quiet bus. 'Does time determine what's right or wrong...
SNOW WHITE It is 6 AM. Yaba bus stop is already crowded with workers struggling to board comfortable buses. Many ignore smoky, scrappy, dirty and high-fare vehicles; Friday gives you such luxury. It does not take too long before an accepted bus stops in front of me. The bus is barely empty; occupied by the drive, conductor, a man and a woman dressed like it was snowing that morning. I board the bus and suddenly, this winter like woman hands me a tract which I turn down. She looks at me like the devil’s advocate. I sit as far away from her as possible. The bus is finally ready to kick off with all passengers in their seats. Many of us are with our face masks but not Snow White. Suddenly, we are jerked from our sleepy states by a deafening shout: “repent my brothers and sisters, everything is vanity. God loves you so much even if you cannot create the world, or the rivers or the sky. Or can you.” A man in front of Snow White suddenly remembers his face mask and digs ...