THE taxi-driver parks in the way a drunkard falls asleep: suddenly, with little regard for his surroundings. He leaps from his cab, eyes alight with anticipation, striding toward Jae Deh. She shouts at him, pointing at the bucket of bones at her feet: “You’re late! All finished!” The cabbie, who has the gelled hair, tinted aviator glasses and raspy voice of a low-level mafioso from New Jersey, staggers backwards as though he’s been shot: “I’ve been coming here for ten years! You didn’t save any for me?” Ms Jae Deh’s mock-stern look collapses into merriment. She points him towards the nearest table, handing him a plate of rice and a bowl of braised pork. He helps himself to a couple of chilies and a coriander frond, keeping up a steady patter with Ms Jae Deh and her husband, Su Kit.