The whole center of Bangkok was frozen with dead traffic, but I was personally worried about the opposite – I was carried like a crazy on the consistent separation strip on the back seat of the murdered moqik at such a speed as if we were being chased by the great horrendous god of all Thai bands. In fact, it was a motorcycle, but my tongue does not turn to call such a proud word this compact, compact, powerful, low.

I reassured myself by the thought that a couple of backs for such an attraction is very cheap. But the attraction was ahead. We met the same fool on the moquette with the same white man in the rear seat – white in the literal sense of the word.
It seemed to me that he was rushing to jump on the move, and I totally shared his desire – a specific frontal attack began.

Both drivers of the mookies noticed each other in time and immediately started vividly gesturing, sometimes with both hands, but the speed did not decrease. The bombers of tightly standing cars on both sides of us almost touched. It was impossible to travel along the road, so negotiations between the drivers of the Mokik were obviously conducted about who of them would jump over. That these negotiations went into a deadlock, I understood by the gestures of the drivers - in them began to prevail the forwarded middle finger.

My driver was weak. Almost kissing the competitor, he suddenly found a lightning among the bombers and dive there to circumvent the frozen opposite moquette between the cars in the next row.
But here he was waiting for a wreck – two cars on our way drove with rear-view mirrors to meet each other, leaving less than one and a half meters of space between the mirrors. Any normal driver would just shake both mirrors, because it was impossible to finally brake.
But my insane sharply and consistently swung the moquette in different directions, successfully inserting his vanity body between the mirrors.
But I was in the half-stage and was bigger!

I had to do a jigsaw, throwing off the side of the first mirror and almost stumbling onto the door of the neighbor’s car.
Just at this point, the driver sharply turned his moquette in the opposite direction, rolling away from the second mirror, and I noticed with outrage that he was using me as a balancer – otherwise he would have fallen. I opened my mouth to share my thoughts with him, and in the next moment I almost really bit off the second mirror – so I would have gone with it in my teeth for the joy of the surrounding drivers and passengers. Turning away from the rotted mirror, I managed to focus on seeing my reflection in it – well, I had a rod there! This instant picture disappeared. I would put him on my own.
Windows hanged, as the main memory of Thailand.

I didn’t have time to recall, as my steering wheel flashingly turned back between the bumps to the consistent, almost a bumper on my knee, and again drove on the white strip with increasing speed, dropping on the gas from the heart.

“FFFFFFuck you!” I struck him in the back.
“Fuck you back!” he joyfully turned around and philosophically observed:
“I’ve lost no Russians this way yet” – like, no Russian in this way he has yet managed to threaten.