“What is that up ahead, there, on the shoulder? A tractor?”
“No, it’s a horse cart!”
“What’s it carrying?” I asked trying not to look.
“I don’t…really…know….” Christine’s eyes followed the wagon as we passed the one horse rickshaw. Grungy, toothless gypsies urged their mangy bowed-back steed to move faster.
“…strange…” I whispered squinting into the rear view mirror.