The Disappearing Man
Pha That Luang glistened in the distance, a beacon on the far side of the sea of tarmac. On my side a few stubbly trees gave shelter to a smattering of dozing songthaew drivers. Their makeshift hammocks, strung across the bed of their little pick-ups, rustled as they spotted me and began to lazily shout.
“Tuk tuk! Tuk tuk!”
I ignored them as I searched the shaded oasis.
The driver I’d arrived with, and not yet paid, was gone.