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shouting fellow and keeps right on motoring. Not long after, we approach a narrow bridge. A child beggar
is blocking the entrance, his hands clasped in prayer. Our driver doesn't slow down one notch. The beggar
kid matadors out of the way at the last possible instant, hands still folded.
A few miles later, we pull to a stop at the side of the road. The driver wordlessly opens his door, walks
a few steps, and starts peeing into the ditch. (I keep expecting D.C. taxi drivers to pull this maneuver on K
Street, but it's never actually happened.)
The demon driver drops us off at the border checkpoint, where the guards give us no trouble. I note a
small pang of remorse at having left the chaos of Cambodia behind us. From here on out, the countries we
pass through will almost certainly be tamer.
We find a Thai cabbie on the other side who's willing to drive us the remainder of the way into Bangkok.
The roads on the Thai side are paved and wide, with painted lane markers and a median strip. Before long,
we can see the city's evening skyline twinkling to life.
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