Trying to avoid trishaws and potholes, the taxi-driver drove us home that night in his blue taxi, a 1962 Opel Rekord. Dee was wearing her cat-eye glasses with the mother-of-pearl inlay on the stems that winked as we wound through the streets of S.I.A. I sat between Ali and Suz, and our shoulders touched. Dee sat in the front seat. She turned around now and then, smiling. The wind from the open window blew our hair in all directions, and we didn’t care.