The crowd moved away like a wave as a ragged man who smelled of a month's worth of sweat and grime walked across the floor. He was the last to come in, but the first to make an order in the crowded burger shop. The cashier watched him count his cents with a hand over her mouth and nostril. Another worker placed a bag of burger and fries onto the counter, and quickly pulled his hand away as the man reached for it. All eyes followed him as he walked out then the cashier made a show of swiping the air in front of her. A few customers laughed nervously. The cashier left his money lying on the counter until one of her colleagues picked them up and washed the coins in the sink for her.
The homeless man shuffled along the sidewalk with the bag swinging from his rope-belt. As long as he doesn't try to cross the road, he could walk any way he wanted and not bump into anyone. No matter how crowded the path was, his scent would always open a way for him. Finally he came to the wharf jetty.
A coolie called out, "Ooi, old man. Have you eaten already?" He lifted up his bag of burger and water as a reply.
The coolie lit a cheap cigarette and passed it to him. The old man gurgled and smiled with delight as he clipped it between his fingers. Then he made his way down the side of the jetty and climbed the beams down and across to his favourite spot. The ochre water lapped his callused feet as he carefully took out his meal and opened the packaging tenderly. A mudskipper swam up to his toe, touched it and turned into a child with stout arms and a flat tail who climbed up the beams to sit beside him.
"That looks like good food old man."
"Would you like some?"
The child nodded and the old man broke the burger in half. As they each ate their portion, the wooden walkway above them rattled and shook.
"Why do you come here every day, old man," the child asked.
"Because this is like a place I once knew, though far larger."
"Where was this place?"
"A place called Bukit Asek. It is not far from here."
"Was it a long time ago?"
"It was tomorrow."
"What happened tomorrow?"
"A laughing child rode her father's shoulders."
The mud-skipper child paddled the water with its tail. "Why was the girl laughing?"
"She was happy that day, I think."
"Did she stay happy?"
"No, because she was there."
"She was in the way?"
"No. She was not in the way. She was suppose to be there. I was not."
"What happened tomorrow?"
"I killed her father tomorrow. And I killed her."
"Would it have been alright if you only killed the father?"
"I don't know. I will find out tomorrow."
"Have you ever found out?"
"No, each time I killed the father, she would die too."
"Why don't you just not kill the father?"
The old man took a sip from his bottle of water. "Maybe I won't tomorrow. I will think about it tonight."
The mudskipper jumped back into the river and disappeared under the rippled surface. The walkway rumbled and shook, rumbled and shook, rumbled and shook yet all the old man heard was the silence of the day before tomorrow. As night fell, the light of the pier shone down stripes of light onto the beam, the old man and the murky waters. A new soda can embedded in the mud reflected the light a hundred times fold. The old man covered his eyes and face as though in shame yet no matter which way he turned, the light shone painfully into his eyes. While his eyes were closed, he saw the little girl's face. His little niece looked as pretty as a porcelain doll - the image of her mother. He imagined reaching for the knife and stabbing his brother's gut. His niece screamed his name. He had to kill her: He had no choice. He had no choice. He opened his eyes and as he stared into the dimming light of the soda can, he realized, he had a choice. He unlashed the rope around his waist, tied one end to a cross beam and the other end round his neck. He decided not to kill tomorrow, so the woman he adores could continue to live happily with his brother.
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