When I lived in Cambodia, I got into a lot of fights. I'd protest the fruit seller who was overcharging me for mangoes because I was American. I'd wave my hands at the police officer who fined me for driving on the correct side of the road. I'd get angry with doctors at the "free" clinic for charging poor patients for drugs. My Cambodian boyfriend usually just watched and shook his head. But when we went to the Justice Ministry to get papers for his U.S. visa application, he told me not to ...
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