Spin

He was Passing Through the capital letter.

A beaming kid monk on a cycle. A sign, Thanks For Peace.

Along a narrow street packed with motorcyles, tuk-tuks, carts selling coconuts, magoes and durian and humanity finding its way were huge glass windows. Inside a showroom were shiny Bentleys, Rolls, Porches, and Lambrogenies.

You get what you pay for. Every car on the road is a used car.

He went in to admire the gleaming machines. He looked at sticker prices. He left and walked up the street.

He bought a Japanese bike with a basket, a bell, a front light generator and six Shimano gears. 78 bones.

Style and class.

Spin them wheels, said Muse. Let's go.