Saturday night, I was riding my Kymco Custom 150 and had stopped at the traffic lights, reading the volunteer traffic policeman certificate on the rear window of a pretty dilapidated taxi in front of me- a rare sight here that.
All of a sudden the taxi backed up closer next to me. The drivers window rolled down and I heard a voice (barely catching a glimpse of the guy in the dim lights of 光復南路): "Sir, you need to repair the ignition block." He'd hit the nail in the head. I'd been meaning to have it done, but never had the chance. The driver made sure he'd driven it home: "The ignition block. A second-hand, two hundred fifty," with accompanying gestures. "Thanks a lot!" was the only thing I was able to utter at that moment. He raised his hand, the window rolled up again, the lights turned green and we went our ways.
Like a Chinese doctor who can put you a diagnosis just by looking at your face-out of the blue, he had told me the problem, the medicine and even its price, in English clear as daylight. This is one of the million reasons I just love this place. All the hidden dragons, disguised as taxi drivers, street vendors, cleaning people- you don't always see them, but you know they are there by these spontaneous appearances just as this one, and it melts your heart.
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