On the empty lot across the airport hung two long strips of thick nylon cords lined with luminous yellow orbs, very much like a very narrow runway that ends smack into a tree.
The weather was cool and the sky was overcast. A new fishing net was being prepared for the next fishing expedition.
On the AM radio was a local version of Dear Abby, occasionally interrupted by music from the golden oldies, bringing back bittersweet memories.
These fishermen are paid piso a day when they’re not at sea like today. Piso is Php 1.00, enough only to buy a candy or two, but that’s their lingo for P100. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing in between fishing trips.
A shot of tuba for everyone. A designated water boy goes around with a pitcher of the pungent coconut wine at regular intervals. It is given as a treat only during Sundays.
Each person gets a share of the catch, and each likewise has a share in the expenses as well. All of them are co-owners of the net, floaters and sinkers.
It’s a never ending cycle of borrowing money and paying debts, but it is an honest living.
There are no tall tales of the high seas, only wreckage from the distant past that lie 80 fathoms deep.