As I drive about the Sois in rural Thailand I catch little glimpses of things that barely register on the mind as the scenery flies by; strange things, beautiful things, sad things, interesting things. I wish I could hold on to these scenes; explore them in detail. I wish that I had the time to stop and investigate further as I'm driving by, but time is a commodity worth more than all the moneys in the world. I wish I had more. I once had a guy wave to me as I passed him. He yelled out something, almost in greeting, as if he knew me. I wonder if we knew each other once, in another place, another time, and he recognized my soul as I drove by in the truck, and just had to yell a hello. I wish I had stopped and said hello too. I saw two young girls, dressed in school uniforms. White blouses, blue skirts, books in hand. They were holding hands, talking, walking down the road, jostling(,)each other with their shoulders and teasing each other as they strolled along. As I passed the one closest to the truck looked up. She was close enough to touch almost. Her smiling face, her clear eyes and golden smooth skin are there in my mind's eye now. I can see her as if she were standing next to me. Once in a while her face just pops into my head. Why? Why is she still there? Sometimes I think maybe I'm a bit mad. I stopped at a road stop on a corner one time. An old lady standing by the roadside walked over to the truck and put her hand on my arm and smiled at me. Her palm was so cool. It must have been a hundred degrees out that day. She said something in Thai and giggled  and walked away. Who was she? Why did she touch me? Why was her hand so cool? Why did I just sit there and let her touch me? I didn't flinch away. It was almost as if I knew her, and we were just saying a quick hello. Her cool touch almost seemed familiar; like my long dead grandmother's soothing cool touch remembered from when I was just a little boy. I need more time. I need to stop the truck more often, and just say hello. Things glimpsed along the road are often far more interesting and wonderful than that which seems to consume our daily lives. Slow down. Stop the truck. Get out, and say hello. What kind of life does the writer normally lead?
Busy. Tiring. Meaningless. Boring.