drive home:

first the back-stretch of road from work to the traffic light
skinny burmese men pushing carts on foot
or by pedal bike
motorcycles with side cars full of freezer-burnt or half-melted ice cream
then the mansion on the corner
not done yet
marble tigers and exposed scaffolding
the traffic light is blinking on and off because it's past the time of day when we have to wait for the light to change, we can all just go when we think it's safe which means all of us just go
dodging each other over the blare of karaoke from the korean bbq joint
and then the winding bit of road where the trees and the dogs are denser
and  people burn their trash in piles in front of their tin and bamboo houses.
next is the T where i can go left or right to get home--haven't timed it
but i like the drive through town better, more human someone, to be with all those other people,
so it's left past the temple and the never-stocked tesco
and a straight shot through the traffic lights striping intarakiri road (or is that the one
running away from the border? i can never remember)
and as i sail past the left turn into the muslim part of town
the call to prayer makes me suddenly teary--(i must be exhausted)
and finally a right turn into a broad, undodge-able pothole, a hesitation at the 7-11: do i need anything?
another right at the traffic light, a quick merge, a sharp left turn at the gift shop
and i wind my way down the badly-lit road to the police station--past thick cops on bikes, wearing sunglasses even though it's already dusk--
curve slowly around the detention center where burmese migrant workers sit on the floor
of a big cage that i try not to look at and also try to look at and can't decide which is worse
while avoiding the ditch that's eating into the road, checking over my shoulder
shifting down to neutral
swinging one leg over and heaving open the blue iron gate
and then it's a single burst uphill and i'm home.