tossed

He turned away from looking out the window. He began to tap on the wheel in tune with the music. It was growing on him. The car was air conditioned. The outside was sun burnt. This had been a nice ride. Not looking at the phone every few seconds. He didn’t have data, he didn’t have to worry about his game. Stress free. He had some time to think. Instead of managing driving, his game, and his calls, at the same time. He had just been driving and listening to music. It was nice. The light turned green, he slowly pushed the pedal. The car accelerated forward. Motorcycles swirling around like bees. Rickshaws. The chaotic traffic that was the heartbeat of this city. The hum drum. The noise. The chaos. It was all part of the system of red throbbing veins that connected this city. Clogged with traffic like the arteries of a fat man who eats nothing but oily greasy junk food. But it was home. The canal was to his right. On his left, there was a cart. A shirtless boy was sitting on it, swinging his legs. He didn’t have the shorn abs of some of the other children. His stomach was flaccid. Not big. Just soft. He was small for his age. His face looked much older, a little big and unwieldy on his skinny shoulders. The cart was led by a donkey. A few slabs of wood. A woman with a red shawl around her head, the same color for her shalwaar kameez, was holding the reins guiding the beast along. The boy was looking in front of him, eyes blank, uninterested. More frequently than not, he would be tossed up like a limp rag doll as the cart shuddered. His expression would remain unchanged.

The car passed by the cart, and roared on and away.