Prompted: Dragons aren't born, they're what happens when people concentrate too much wealth compared to their society

John Beeswax burped and fire spouted from his mouth. 

"You're paying for that," groaned Tashi from the driver's seat. The smell of burnt sun-cracked leather filled the rickety taxi. John tried to wipe the soot off the passenger seat's headrest in front of him but only succeeded in dirtying his crisp white cuffs. He tutted his tongue and sighed and slunked back in his seat. 

"Just get me to where I need to be and I'll buy you a whole new car."

"Yes sir, Mister Beeswax sir." The meter on the dashboard clicked loudly, marking another full kilometer traveled.

As annoyed as John was with the minor inconvenience of untimely flames bursting from his mouth, he was thankful that the old smell of oil and rust had been painted over. He had to fight to not remember the old health hazard his mother used to drive. Her thin frame would be hunched over the steering wheel, her eyes squinting through glasses with a prescription older than he was.

Another loud click brought him out of his memories, thankfully before he could remember the shame of how he'd ask his mother to drop him a block from school so as to avoid being seen. 

"Is it still far?" John enquired. He leaned forward between the two front seats to take a closer look at the meter. He scratched at the small oval scales that were emerging around the base of his skull. Laughable amounts of money had exchanged various pairs of greedy, grabbing hands just to find out about someone who knew how to find Dolma, let alone actually seeing her. 

"Miss Dolma does not care much for the cities, sir." John reeled backward as the stench of cheap tobacco that erupted from Tashi's mouth assaulted his various facial orifices. 

"I can understand not caring for your local cities here in Tibet," John croaked through the stench, "but if what I've heard from Dolma is true then she'd be a star elsewhere! Spirituality is a rising trend and reputable spiritual leaders are very hard to find."

"Miss Dolma is more for teaching than leading, sir," Tashi waved his hands as he gestured to the beautiful Tibetan plains. "The plains has all she needs to be her. What more could she possible want?" The summer sun was busy drying the night's rainfall and beads of water glittered like jewels across the green fields. A cloud passed over them, it's shadow just an unrecognizable blur on the rocky road the taxi trudged ahead on. 

"I just hope she's more for healing than teaching." John could feel the two tips of his tongue tickle his lips as he spoke. Were the conspiracies about lizard men ruling the world true? Had they injected him with their lizardy juices? Was he to be experimented on? Apparently,  Dolma had the answers. 

"Why do you like the cities, sir?" In another time and place, Tashi would never have the privilege of exchanging philosophies with the world's richest man but the rusted prayer on wheels that Dolma specifically arranged for John served as a great equalizer. 

"Just to list the basics, Tashi, but good food, great education,  and the best healthcare!"

"But all those are back there," Tashi nodded with his head back to the way they had come, "and I don't have them?" 

Tashi had a look of genuine confusion on his face. John could hardly blame him. It was this inability to realise the importance of wealth that separated people like Tashi from people like him. 

John laid a gentle hand on his driver's shoulder and muttered, "You need to be able to pay for them Tashi. Wealth brings opportunities. Opportunities bring freedom." John's eyes glazed over as he said this, lost in the labyrinth of his youth's memories. The smell of chemicals. White clothes and halls. Blood. Silence. 

Tashi scratched his chin, oblivious to his companion's state of mind. "I don't know,  Mister Beeswax sir, that all seems like a pretty unhealthy point of view. My gran used to scare me and my five brothers and my three sisters and six cousins with stories that we'd turn into slit-eyed, fork-tongued flying lizards if we became money greedy."  John shifted uncomfortably as he felt the nubs on his back press against his seat. 

The taxi darkened again as another cloud rolled overhead. "There's Dolma!" exclaimed Tashi, pointing. John snapped out of his stupour and peered around. 

"Where?"

"There, of course?" Tashi stared at him as one stares at a child that fails to ride a bicycle, as if the answer should be like  second nature. Tashi's finger was pointing up. Another cloud rolled overhead, it's shadow blacking out the entire plains. 

John yanked and cranked the manual lever and opened the window. He shoved his head out and peered upward but had to squint through the summer sun's harsh rays. Then a shadow passed in front of the sun. 

"But that's a -"

"A dragon, Mister Beeswax sir." The taxi slowed down. "Not all wealth is bought, or silver, or gold, sir."