Patriots Destroyed

[Vung Tau, 2/9/26]

On the way to Thanh Trúc Coffee, I noticed a Young Chow fried rice advertised as “siêu topping.” Derived from 超, siêu means super, but topping here is just weird, man. Deluxe fried rice is all that’s meant. Language mutates constantly. Soon enough, all familiar words will become incomprehensible to your descendants. Already, Shakespeare is barely decipherable to most native speakers. Forget Chaucer. Tennyson? Who dat?!

Getting buzzed too early yesterday, I couldn’t get an article started. Arriving at Mr. C at 6:30AM, I found it already packed, so couldn’t sit at the bar. Mr. C is Canadian Randy Cole, by the way. “There he is!” he greeted me. His two TVs were visible enough from my seat. Even farther away was a lone Patriots fan. “Magic time!” he shouted during their first possession. Seahawks freaks clearly outnumbered him. One wore a visor with blue and lime nylon sort of feathers sticking up. Another was in a Mariners jersey. Even the Aussie sitting near me was a Seahawks fan.

From Perth, Terry’s lived in Vietnam four years. His first time here was for a wedding in Bến Tre, in the Mekong Delta. There, he met his future wife, but they didn’t rush into it. He’s 63, she’s 50. They said I do just three years ago. His first marriage lasted 20 years. She died. Of his two grown children, one is struggling mightily back in Perth. Living in one of his houses, she and her boyfriend pay no rent. Still, they can barely afford meat. Seeing none in their fridge during his last visit, Terry went out to buy them lots of protein. He also gives them money, of course, but almost nothing is enough. On his phone, Terry showed me a loaf of bread priced at 22 Australian dollars, so almost 16 USD. Native Aussies are being priced out by rich Chinese, Indians and Jews. I already knew this before talking to Terry. My friend Mark lives in Brisbane. His son has been chased nearly out of Queensland. With a wife and baby son, he’s dwelling practically within sight of Papua New Guinea.