Taxi driver

Catch a cab here and it will take you anywhere. It may not be where you had initially planned, but you will get wherever it is you are going with great dispatch. There are no traffic signals here, only decorative posts and festive lights dotting the streets which mean nothing more than the electrical grid is up and running, and life is good. A red light signifies that the driver grit his teeth, curse to the heavens in Mandarin, and floor the accelerator until all 42 horses scream in protest.
The serene and civilised flow of cyclists is hardly interrupted, unless they are unfortunate enough to find themselves in the direct path of the bumper, in which case that pretty red light is just about last thing they will ever see.
When I lived in Miami Beach, during the first week I saw a car accident which had obviously happened moments before, and there were several bodies lying in the road, some moving and some not. I had just come from a mean, cold climate and the carnage was something I had never seen. But the sun was so bright off the Bay of Biscayne, and the air so clean, that the carnage blocking the road held no horror or even fascination.
When you step into a taxi in Shanghai, you are not taking your life into your hands. It is someone else's life, and it isn't your hands. And you might even get where you want to go.

Lost

Ghosts in Shanghai