It’s a cool night in Houston, and we are driving toward home. When we stop on Westheimer at a light, Minal glances out. It’s dusk, and her gaze falls on the body of a young man lying down under a tree. He is surrounded by bags.
“Maybe he needs a ride to the airport, Ammi,” Minal says.
“Why do you think he needs a ride to the airport?” I ask.
“Because he needs to take an airplane home,” she says.
“Airplane?” I ask.
“Yes, because he doesn’t have a home here. If he takes a plane, he can fly to his house.”