I signed the document I could not read and handed my life savings to the stranger. He grunted and held out a silver case.
My cousin didn’t smile.
“Take one,” he said.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll insult him if you don’t. He’ll lose face.”
I took a cigarette from the case and stuck it behind my ear. The man’s mouth formed something between a sneer and smile, his teeth stained reddish-brown from betel nut. Outside the window, traffic poured by, noisy and chaotic.
I was now the proud owner of a motorcycle. There was only one problem.
I had no idea how to drive it.