“ Tuktukpatrol? ” a shaky voice asked. It was an elderly man. “He won’t stop. He says my destination is in the ‘red zone.’ The meter is at 400 rupees. I’ve only gone two blocks.”
The rogue driver, a burly man with a gold chain and a permanent scowl, saw the canary-yellow tuktuk pull up perpendicular to his path. His eyes widened. He knew that color. tuktukpatrol
The tuktukpatrol fought back.
A cry came through the patrol’s hotline—a cracked phone number passed from shopkeeper to street vendor to harried office worker. “ Tuktukpatrol
Their mission, which they’d chosen to accept, was simple: fight the petty tyranny of the city’s rogue tuktuk drivers. which they’d chosen to accept