Lincoln downshifts and turns left onto the arterial leading into the heart of the city. He’s delivering a load of cabinets and furniture to a new office building in Bishal Bazar. Even after two years of driving on the opposite side of the road, he still has a hard time getting used to it. Beside him is Sameer, who’s riding shotgun and smoking a cigarette. Lincoln rolls his window down to air out the aging, stuffy cab only to get slammed with a choking cloud of diesel exhaust.
He scrunches his nose and turns to Sameer, who’s looking at the passing buildings. “Hey, mind put that out? I congest to death in here,” he says in Nepali.
Sameer looks back and smiles. “Oh, sorry,” he says and flicks the butt on the floor. As he mashes it with his foot, he points ahead to an upcoming traffic circle
