the whole ride home in the motorcycle rickshaw taxi i wonder to myself how much it’s going to be. 5 or 10? i want to avoid getting ripped off so i don’t ask, but instead pull out all i have, a 20, hoping for change.

he pulls to a stop and helps me open the door. i hand him the bill. “有零钱吗?” he nods wordlessly and gives me a 10, 5, and 1.  i stare at the money for more than a few seconds, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. simultaneously stupid and guilty and grateful and helpless. he looks back at me curiously, not smiling, but kindly. i want to offer him the change but something stops me in that split second. i don’t know. this is awkward. will it offend him?

before i work up the courage to say something, he hops back on his bike and he’s gone.  the paper in my hands is worth nothing compared to the weight in my heart right now.

4 kuai. for waiting in line, for standing in the cold, for being away from home at 11:30pm, for putting his life in danger in that death trap bike of his, for helping me in and out of the taxi, for 20 minutes of his time. for 4 kuai. and i nearly resented him for it.

on my walk home my eyes sting from dust and tears. it’s so unfair. and i don’t even know the first thing about it.

i hate myself sometimes.