In Bangladesh, goats seek out the warmest part of the road and stretch out there, oblivious to the traffic that flows around them. Motorized rickshaws, battered buses, bicycles carrying chickens, beds, you name it — all jockey for position on roads that are buckled and muddy from monsoon rains.

Drivers honk horns whenever they close in on another car — or whenever they feel like it — a cacophony of street noise.

It’s nighttime now in Khulna, but I can still feel the jumble of the road. And I’ll fall asleep to the din of car horns honking.