The Rickshaw Wallah

Han Ru Li doesn’t want to hail a rickshaw, but the narrow side streets are knee-deep with filthy water and a taxi will never do.

It is mid-August, the height of the monsoons. Han Ru considers going back inside the hotel to wait for a break in the storm, but then he imagines his father’s body laid out on a table in the middle of Eldest Brother’s front room, the ice blocks slowly melting, dripping through the cracks in the cement floor.

No more delays—he’s come so far already.

People on couch
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