Nothing symbolises Western society – particularly, its notion of time as a commodity for sale – better than the taxi driver’s meter. As a child, I watched them with a morbid fascination. Seeing the price rise before my eyes with each passing moment was anxiety-inducing, painful almost, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from…
Our legs dragged as we approached the traditional Indonesian restaurant, known as a warung, at the end of the street. Smokey grey fumes swirled from an open wok, behind which sat a small woman perched on the edge of a stool. Alerted by the footsteps of prospective customers, she glanced up momentarily from her work.…