Squeaky clean

Unexpected freshness, guess where this photo is taken.
Clue:  It's in the details

I thought the man was coming for me.  His face dirt black with hair that was uncut, disheveled and had that stylish unmoving bed-hair look, except that instead of gum or gel  it was days-old dirt, soot and oil that made it stay in place.  Up his lip vigorously sprouted the moustache of bad guys you see in 80‘s Tagalog action movies.  He walked deliberately towards me as I sat, drinking from my water bottle.

I was alert.

He had layered muddied clothes, tattered sando over an oversized shirt that was shorn along the edges, hole-riddled, frayed-along-the-hem denim shorts that were once pants, and workman’s boots with grayish white socks that have obviously seen better days sticking out.

The man was holding a white disposable plastic cup, the kind that you would find in a children’s birthday party.  The same kind that he was wearing on his wrist as a bracelet, with the cup’s mouth shredded to reveal what looked like funny petals.  I faced away from him, making sure that he does not notice me spying at him from the corner of my right eye.

I was ready.

Then he stopped five meters away from me, just in front of the faucet and air pressure gauge common in similar gasoline stations.  He stooped and opened the faucet to fill his cup.  I can hear the guzzle of the water and the sound it made on the pavement as it overflows the cup.  I was upright on my seat, waiting to evade a splashing.  Seconds passed, then a minute, then two -- no splash.

I turned towards him, white foam coming out of the sides of his mouth.  I resisted the temptation of pulling my cellphone camera so I can immortalize the image.  After all, I myself wouldn’t want to have a picture of me taken with foam dribbling from the corners of my mouth.  His left hand, the one with the plastic cup bracelet, was briskly making sawing motions towards his mouth.

He took the water-filled cup, put it into his mouth, gargled then spewed the foam.  He filled the cup again and repeated what he just did.  He then carefully placed his almost squeezed out toothpaste sachet and toothbrush into the cup.

I was smiling.  He smiled back, his shiny white teeth partly hidden by the wet ends of his movie bad guy  moustache.  He turned and walked away in a steady gait.  Though his face was turned away from me, I can imagine him feeling fresh and squeaky clean.