On weekdays in Manila, Al Enriquez, 86, pushes a rickety wooden cart with a multicolored umbrella perched on the dilapidated wood. He sells candies and cigarettes outside of a bustling commuter supermarket, where the occasional smoker or a child with a few coins stops by to make a purchase.

In these dense, chaotic streets, Mr. Enriquez — swallowed by a T-shirt and basketball shorts hanging loosely on his small, aging body — is often overlooked by the crowd.

But on weekends, Al is a glorious Manila showgirl.

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