I
took
driving
lessons
from
my
brother
Naval.
He
was
4
years
older
and
a
foot
taller
than
me.
And
he
had
long
arms. He
would
lean
out
of
the
little
window
and
with
his
long
arms
grab
hold
of
the
kids
running
straight
towards
the
1950s
Ford
reincarnated
in
India
as
the
Ambassador
Automobile,
Mark
II.
He
would
grab
hold
of
the
kids
two
at
a
time
and
hurl
them
as
far
away
from
the
treacherous
wheels
of
the
car
as
he
could.
He
was
innocent
of
the
use
of
brakes
and
our
old
white
Ambassador
would
hurtle
through
the
crowded
markets
of
Raopura
with
kids
flying
in
all
directions.
=> info | Construct a last
Exhibition: The Last Performance [dot org] @ Haus Der Kulturen Der Welt