the long way back
walking the long way back
from the busy bazaar,
we see rows of rickshaws.
men, both young and old
sweating in the heavy humidity
from their labours: of cycling for
someone else
sitting in a carriage.
each is hoping for a customer
,(ideally someone skinny),
amoungst fierce competition.
:
each is hoping to make enough today
in order to afford dinner tonight.
we hop in
a rickshaw
with a grin, we greet
the young man in front;
he reluctantly responds,
hiya boss-man, where to ?
careful to subordinate himself in his limited english.
we roll by
a diplomat in an imported benz
with a black license plate
fat and sweating, he
loudly urges his driver to hurry through the hectic traffic.
the shouting
muted by thick glass windows
(keeping conditioned air inside).
we roll by
a franchised KFC,
young locals flowing in and out,
laughing in the heat and frolicking despite it.
inside they serve halal chicken meat:
fried and breaded.
their menu modified.
to cater to local tastes and culture.
long way back
we roll by
a mess of communal shanty shelters
the desolate home to
many too many
families.
the roar of an engine is heard.
soon,
an enormous black chevy yukon kicking up dust,
(proudly made in the united states),
an american flag is waving at the end of the bonnet.
in the front seats are two locals:
dressed in black suits and matching sunglasses.
they smirk in unison as they honk at a rickshaw.
we watch
~the rickshaw continue its slow course,
the suits look frightened all of a sudden.
he hits the gas and swerves well away from the harmless rickshaw,
(there is no Improvised Explosive Device).
expecting an explosion, they continue to accelerate,
blowing the light blue plastic covering
from atop the shanty structure,
the home to many too many.
the password is rickshaw.
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