I never did sleep on the north bound night train. Every time my eyes got heavy the train would scream like it was awakening from a cheap horror film nightmare.I needed to use the shitter, so I staggered down a corridor that was built for a man a good foot and a half shorter than I.
I would not wish an Asian shitter on my worst enemy, but one on a night train being shared by hundreds of people and probably livestock too? It’s proof that there’s no God, or if there is, He doesn’t really care all that much.
The hole in the floor surrounded by all sorts.
The distinct lack of tissue paper.
I didn’t even run the tap for fear of what might come out.
16 hours later; we arrived. I walked down the platform with the smell of stale piss heavy in my nose, past a few thousand of the usual, “tuc tuc sir?”, and “taxi, taxi, cheap, cheap?” lines of questioning.
I looked around and saw a female taxi driver in the distance, I’ve no idea how old, it’s hard to pinpoint the age of an Asian person post-40; but she didn’t ask if I wanted a taxi, she was leaning against her taxi, not particularly arsed, and I immediately liked her. I actually pursued her for a lift to our next shack. The car was nice, Air-Con, leather seats, very much unlike Asia. After 5 minutes of driving she pulled over and said to me, “I’ve no idea where I’m going, do you want to direct me?”.
I could only see her wrinkled eyes in her rear view mirror, but I could tell a smile was developing all over her face. She knew. I knew. This was ridiculous. I’d been in her city for 7 minutes and she’d like me to direct her. What a blagger! I’ve rarely felt so connected to a 40-80 year old woman. Only at this moment did it occur to me, like a clear cut religious vision: she’s not a taxi driver.