The power of an imaginary itch

Yesterday while (ahem!) strolling on down to our "extremely well organised taxi park" - aka taxis bustling haphazardly parking by dilapidated name poles and all of us wondering "if we get into this taxi, how on EARTH are we going to get out of the park" - for those who haven't got it by now, these are not your ordinary run-of-the-mill yellow NYC taxis, these are minibuses, unsafe, cheap, dirty as hell- scrap that at least hell has heat sterilization - dirty as...radiation waste ??- they are so bad, i was sitting in one and i got a bed bug crawling up my bag. You can imagine i got the fright of my life- the guy next to me didn't make things better as he commented that taxis are infested with these un-squishable, bloodsucking mini-monsters and they crawl out when you sit on the seat long enough for it to get warm. I poked my head out my window - we were in a dead lock that i knew went for a couple hundred meteres to our turn-off and I was in a seat by the window... on the other side of the door - running was not an option. We continued to sit there for of an hour half way through which, and me almost in tears, i decided... stuff this, i have got to move on with life- so i did something. That did not mean i wasn't scratching my self the entire evening- those invisible bites DO itch.