I bought five small bread buns from the bakery on Kalantiaw Street as I waited for my Grab Taxi cab to arrive. I ate three and left two for the cab driver. I gave him the buns as I entered the cab and he thanked me profusely. Then he told me he'd been stuck in terrible traffic from NAIA 3 to Cubao. I guess he was hungry.

As we stopped at a red light before entering White Plains, he said he'd eat the buns. I told him I liked the bakery I'd bought the buns from; their breads were tasty and filling and cheap. He took one bun out of the plastic bag and thanked me again. Suddenly, there was a knock on his window: a little girl, asking for food or money.

"She's asking for the other piece," he said with a smile. He rolled down the window a little and handed her a bun. "Let's share," he told the girl.

The light turned green. We moved forward. He bit into the remaining bun. "It's good," he said.

It is.

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