A small blue Ford stood with all its doors open. A little man in a white shirt and sunglasses stood by with crossed arms, smiling as we approached. We got in.
He stomped on the gas, caroming into the flow of traffic with utter disregard. Joe covered his face with his hands and groaned. The driver ignored this, jerking the wheel this way and that, narrowly avoiding collisions as he sped through the streets.
I focused on the scenery. A column of shaved-head monks in orange robes walked along the road, some carrying black umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun. Three-wheeled bicycle taxis hurdled alongside the traffic, oblivious of the danger.
We skidded to a stop in front of a two-story building with a pagoda roof of red tiles. The driver flipped his wrist and checked his watch, grinning like a lunatic. “Twelve minute!” he said to Joe. “New record!”
What Pegman Saw: Laos