I was sitting on my seat, somewhere between dreaming and dying in a bus to Beibei(a district of Chongqing). You sat next to me, your presence was apparent through the way you coughed and spat out mucus through the window confidently loud, old habits that you don't ever want to kill.

I wasn't bothered by you, you didn't do me any harm. You were no different than the one that was next to you or the rest of the bus. But you drew my attention through your toes. In between death and sleep when I felt your feet touching my arms.

I first thought it was just the handle of my seat but then I felt the human-ness of the touch. I looked over and it was your foot. You had stuck that through the gap and rested it on my seat handle. So now it was me, covered with a over coat, my handbag and your one intrusive foot, all next to each other.

I felt mad. I turned around and saw that you were pretending to be asleep while your toes looked for a part of me to touch. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell the conductor to change my seat or asked my friend to do something for me but the road was foggy and I didn't want them to get excited and lose concentration over some people feeling harassed. So I thought about it; waited for you to move your feet. I moved myself away from the handle and your feet, feeling furious.

Half an hour later your feet still remained, you knew that I was aware, you still didn't move.

I finally turned and with a stern voice said, “You listening, yes you, move your feet, it's touching me.” And you looked irritated as if I had asked you to move a mountain. You did move your feet. Everyone enjoyed our interaction, except for me.

And now few days later, I just want to ask you something, though I know you are not reading this. Does it make you feel good to harass a person through your hands and feet? Aren't you the one who complains that city people don't come to villages? City people don't want to work with villagers? Aren't you the one, who, if I met in some other setting would have been nice to me and helped me in some way; if you heard I was going to your village perhaps or the village next to yours?

So why do you become so different when night falls and darkness surrounds you and me, and your sick desires get the best of you. Why?
Won't you change brother? Please? For us?

I want to see your village, the dirt that you carry in your feet isn't filthy; it's the dirt you carry in your mind. Wash it away brother, cough loudly and spit it out. We will travel together again to your village and the one next to you. On a bus when darkness won't bring undesired touch, foggy roads won't lead to deaths, and we will all be healed.