It was a sultry, moon washed Friday night as I stood outside the Seven-Eleven along Sucat Rd. in Parañaque eating a penoy . I had just bought the warm egg from the friendly butch-lady balut vendor who nightly sits right outside the store and sells her magical eggs, along with single cigarettes, which she buys by the pack from inside the Seven-Eleven.

     I downed my penoy, paid the butch-lady and walked to the curb, where I tried to flag a jeepney. My watch read just past 11:30 but, still, the night pulsed with action. Many vehicles jockeyed for position on the road, and several people stood on the curb trying to get rides. Three jeeps passed me by and picked up other passengers. Another noticed me standing there and stopped, but his jeep looked full and I waved him on. Just then, another pulled up and stopped right in front of me. This jeepney was only three-quarters full, so I quickly climbed in the back and took a seat.

     The jeepney pulled out into traffic and headed down Sucat Rd. towards the South Expressway. It was a typically average jeepney, semi-rundown but clean. The faded red vinyl seats were mostly nice but showed signs of wear with a few tatters and tears. The floor was worn and rough, while the metal ceiling shined. On the front hood a metal horse stood proudly perched. From the rear view mirror hung rosary beads, a small statue of Jesus on the cross and a green, tree-shaped, cardboard air freshener.

     Outside the darkened, dirty, closed down buildings streamed past and reminded me how so very ugly and desperate Manila can look, especially at night. I checked out the people joining me inside the jeepney. To my right sat a thin lady in her late 30's and her five or six year old daughter who lay asleep on mom's lap. The mother held a colorful woven shopping bag which rested on the floor and was filled halfway with various things inside plastic bags. On my left sat two middle aged men in shorts, T-shirts and rubber slippers. They both held unlighted cigarettes in their hands.

     Across from me a security guard just off work sat semi-slumped and staring out into space. He wore a white T-shirt and held his blue work shirt in his hand. He looked completely exhausted as he tried to fight off an attack of yawning. A little ways down, two girls in their 20's sat close to each other with arms linked, each with a hand resting on the other's leg. Next to them sat a woman in her 50's clutching a small black purse and a long green umbrella. In the back of the jeepney, by the entrance, was a young guy who looked to be a dance instructor. He had short, slicked-back, black hair and wore nicely pressed white pants, shiny black shoes, a white button down shirt, a thin black tie and he carried a small handbag.

     Just an ordinary jeepney, I thought, plying the busy road with a bunch of ordinary people on any old Friday night in Manila . Or was it? It was several minutes before I began noticing something different, something unique about this jeepney. At first I thought it could have been that this jeepney had been mildly dressed up and it was actually nice inside. Then I noticed that the stereo was on and its sound came through the speakers loud and crystal clear. And as if to compliment the horse motif on the hood, the voice of Glen Campbell filled up the jeepney.

     "Like a rhinestone cowboy," Glen sang at full volume, "Riding out on my horse to a star spangled rodeo ..." I smiled to myself at this slice of Americana inside a Philippine jeepney. But then I noticed that Glen was not singing by himself. I turned towards the voice and realized it was the driver and he was singing loudly, as if he were singing a duet with Glen Campbell.

     Yes, it was the jeepney driver who was the key to this whole scene. From what I could see, he looked to be in his mid-40's and slightly overweight. He was wearing a sleeveless, white sando T-shirt and a checkered fedora hat. Interestingly, I thought, he had his lady with him. She also looked to be in her 40's. She wore a sleeveless, turquoise sun dress that showed off an ample cleavage and made her look kind of sexy.

     Together they made a great couple. He sat semi-reclining, with about a quarter of his body to the right of the steering wheel in that near right angle that almost all jeepney drivers position themselves. His right shoulder leaned up against his woman, who sat in the middle of the front seat, even though the seat next to her, the one where the passenger has one foot resting on the dash outside, was empty. "Like a rhinestone cowboy ..." He sang loudly with Glen.

     They were mere inches away from leaning their heads together and, with him singing, I thought for a moment that they looked like they could be the happiest couple on earth. This was their Friday night together. He drives, she tags along to keep him company, she takes the money from the passengers, she keeps a hand on his thigh, he sings her songs.

     A few passengers had gotten off and we seemed to be close to the South Expressway, the end of the route. We had run into heavy traffic, though, and the jeepney sat absolutely still, surrounded by cars, trucks, and other jeepneys. The next thing I knew, I heard the unmistakable voice of Nat King Cole come over the stereo. The sound was so clear, Nat sounded as if he was sitting next to me on the jeepney. And the driver joined right in.

     "The night is like a lovely tune," sang Nat and the driver in slow, lilting unison as the jeepney idled in the traffic, "Beware my foolish heart. How wise the ever constant moon. Take care my foolish heart."

     As the boys crooned and the driver's woman no doubt swooned, I tried to check out the scene outside. The narrow, low windows of the jeepney only allowed glimpses but it was clearly urban madness as only Manila knows it.