Tuk Tuk Patrol Pickup 13-14 -globe Twatters- -2... -

I flicked the butt into the gutter. Shifted into gear. Dispatch crackled: “Pickup 13-14, Khao San Road. Two Germans. One is bleeding from the ear.”

“Copy,” I said. “En route.”

A monk in saffron walked past. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t need to. He knew: some people aren’t lost. They’re just cargo. Tuk Tuk Patrol Pickup 13-14 -Globe Twatters- -2...

Now, Pickup 13-14. That was my callsign. Tuk Tuk Patrol. Unofficial. Unpaid. Unkillable. I flicked the butt into the gutter

I lit a cigarette. Watched them stumble into a 7-Eleven to buy Chang and phone chargers. Tomorrow they’d fly home to Leeds or Melbourne or Ohio. They’d tell a story about adventure. I’d still be here, engine idling, waiting for the next load of ghosts. Tuk Tuk Patrol Pickup 13-14 -Globe Twatters- -2...