A bag of vomit stared me dead in the eye.
Cambodian child vomit.
The indoor temperature: about 110 degrees F.
We were cramped into a mini van so tightly, sardines laughed at us with envy from their packed tins.
I thought we were auditioning for a clown bus, a circus routine.
At one point the mini-van was packed. Really packed. So packed that I was prepared to behead the driver after he decided to take on 3 more passengers.
They fit. God, I know not how, but they fit.
Brilliant packaging.
Then……the vomit.
Some little Cambodian kid had bad fish. Or was motion sick. Or just wanted to puke for 1,001 different reasons. I felt her. I would have wretched in a moment but I’d likely have been kicked off of the mini van, into the Cambodian rice fields…
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