we were passing a small complex of broken brown and grey down little buildings on the right. under the light of a restuarant sign, in gray pants and sandals, the small child slipped off of his rollerblade scooter, falling backwards.
'bad sign' i mumbled into the air and dust rushing by..
the moto driver throttled our motorbike forward, skimming close to the dumptruck and cutting of a viet girl on a faster Honda Dream. i looked at her, drunk. i couldnt see an inch of her body - she was completely covered. she was still wearing silk long-gloves that reached all the way up to her shoulders - intended to protect skin the days sun and retain the kind of white skin that indicates that one is not a laborer and thus part of a higher, and more desirable class - and her road mask - a bandana covering her nose and mouth to keep out the road dust.
a different, beautiful viet girl scooted forward to my right. she was sitting casually and cross legged on the back of her boyfriend's bike, high heels, sunglasses, and a long silk skirt - totally unffected by the peircing whine that the axles of the ancient dumptruck had begun to make, or the fact that we were going over large potholes on a rusty old bridge at about 35 mph on tiny motobikes with no protective gear. she was also unconcerned with the fact that we were all driving in the opposite direction of the arrows painted on the road. and she was definitely not concerned with the fact that my moto driver was completely drunk.
of course, how could she have known?
she didnt hear him slurring.
she didn't see him drinking.
but i did.
actually -
i'm the one who got him drunk.

yeah and
so

.