When riding a jeepney, you nap, judge people, or memorize faces. Or read the text messages of the person sitting right next to you. Usually Dash can’t look away from the screen—times when prying seems natural.
That day, there were four passengers. One was sitting close to Dash when there was plenty of space. Dash’s eyes strayed down the fool’s screen. A message read: Don’t mess up this shit, brothers! He’s easy. Phone looks pricey; wallet looks thick.
When the jeepney halted for the traffic ahead, he bolted; the three sat transfixed.
Dash lives up to his name.