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Racing down the streets, dodging traffic through cars, buses, taxis, people.

Horns blaring, we’re more obnoxious than motorcycles as we drive.

A cage on three wheels. We use this odd contraption to take us through haphazard boulevards and never follow traffic signs to our destination.

I’m the smart one, or maybe just the lucky one. I chose the front seat.

I’m feeling the breeze in my hair, across my arms, while this guy, this crazy driver, if that’s what you call him, stuffs as many customers as this speeding metal box can carry, into the back.

This driver, he’s got no steering wheel, no windshield wipers. He’s gripping two handlebars and pushing down on the gas.

A modified motorcycle, safety not guaranteed.

How I’m feeling is we should do this every time. How I’m feeling is I’m not getting off, I’m riding this thing forever. We pass within inches of that speeding bus, that speeding car. That speeding taxi.

If this car, if that’s what you call it, crashes, we’re dead for sure, no questions asked. No seatbelts, no airbags. No doors.

How I’m feeling is this is the best way to get to places in the city. We’re rushing home in the yellow darkness and then we’re off, done, out, the wind still whipping my hair.

After-effects of high speed velocitation.

I’m five rupees down and wishing it would turn back. How I’m feeling is we need to do this again. All the time. Every time.