It's a stuffy jeep like vehicle that carts employees from one branch office to another. I am sitting in it now, with the side of my head pressed against the warm glass of the window.
The man next to me has his hands clasped together in prayer. This is confusing me because the journey isn't dangerous or anything. He then looks up at me and looks away, as though he read my thoughts and couldn't care less about my presence.
The vehicle is playing folk songs mainly about miracles and divine interventions. The rearview mirror supports a hanging, and alive looking, Buddha figurine. It sways back and forth, and jumps every now and then at a pot hole. It's ever smiling, of course, through smooth and bumpy rides.
The glass gets fogged, as it rains, and everything looks suddenly a lot less irritable on the outside. The insides, mildly devout but admittedly agreeable, fall into a comfortable lull.
The man next to me has his hands clasped together in prayer. This is confusing me because the journey isn't dangerous or anything. He then looks up at me and looks away, as though he read my thoughts and couldn't care less about my presence.
The vehicle is playing folk songs mainly about miracles and divine interventions. The rearview mirror supports a hanging, and alive looking, Buddha figurine. It sways back and forth, and jumps every now and then at a pot hole. It's ever smiling, of course, through smooth and bumpy rides.
The glass gets fogged, as it rains, and everything looks suddenly a lot less irritable on the outside. The insides, mildly devout but admittedly agreeable, fall into a comfortable lull.
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