My next foray into fiction. A story called "The Race".


Adam revved the engine as he grinned at the neighboring rickshaw driver. He wondered what he was doing at the start of a rickshaw race in the dead of a Bombay summer night.

It had been three years since he moved to the outskirts of Bombay, jettisoning his Wall Street investment banking lifestyle. He had seen it all; private jets to the Carribean negotiating island purchases for Texas oil billionaires, dinners at the Cipriani Club closing international pharmaceutical mergers, banquets with Saudi sheiks discussing oil trade strategies and a plush Soho penthouse overlooking Broadway. With his no limit expense account and VIP credit cards, no destination or restaurant was out of reach.


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