Marlen V. Ronquillo
SHABU does not miraculously drop into the hovels of poverty for distribution by those desperate souls that look the part. It finds its way into, say, the dark alleys of Caloocan City, from a circuitous route that probably starts from China, or Taiwan – or a foreign source. The tattooed, desperate young men with dry skin, hollowed-out red eyes, and mostly wearing basketball jerseys, both trade and consume the stuff with no idea where the dangerous and toxic killer comes from.