Yellow green flying machine

I’m here to speak of the plight of the middleman. Not your usual middleman, the literal person who has to sit in between two people at the back of an auto. The raw hate spewed onto the middleman by the person who gets in last, merely because the person who got in first has a big ass, is simply unjustified. The middleman has to endure a barrage of frowns from countless men and women. Today the driver asked me to pay up in advance to which I replied “it’s too tight right now”. Kids, papa is by no means strapped for cash. Papa is literally stuck in between the ass cheeks of two grown men. So tight, that I can’t pull out my wallet. The driver, who is quite familiar with this pickle of situation, immediately understood my plight, and did not harass me further. He sped on, squeezing though the tiniest gap in between two motorbikes, and intimidating pedestrians. The guy on my left, got out. As I was taking my wallet out, and realizing at the same time, how good it feels to inhale fully, the lady in the front migrated to the back seat, which is understandable right? No one wants to be that close to someone who propels his three-wheeler with spit. If you don’t know, the Indian auto or auto-rickshaw is a small three-wheeler, and in some cities they take up to four passengers. Three at the back, and one sitting next to the driver, like in HIS FACE. So she starts to do this weird thing where she moves to and fro on the seat meanwhile giving me quick glances of hate. This kids, is a sign that the person on your left is not comfortable with their accommodation. Little does she know. the guy on my right has his legs in a ‘V’ shape. Blasphemy. I was about to cry foul when I noticed the backpack inside his ‘V’. I remember once asking somebody to keep their backpack in the boot, to which they replied “there’s food in the bag”. Apparently food goes bad when kept in trunks. Has to be the isolation.