Sweat Soaked Tales Essential

[Vung Tau, 3/31/25]

This morning at Jason’s coffee stand, Lucky finally warmed up to me. Yelled at, the self-pitying dog went over to be petted. Shame faced, Lucky stopped glaring at me. Three or four times a day, he’s taken to a park and, always, he returns after roughly half an hour. Lucky’s self-discipline doesn’t allow him to frolic, flirt or fornicate for, say, two or three hours.

Across the street is a modest two-story house where live only four people. One is a 102-year-old woman who’s still strong and alert enough to do housework. Sometimes she yells at some crappy singer on the TV. Her 75-year-old daughter often lies on the sidewalk, like a homeless person. People who don’t know better give her money. She hangs her laundry on a fence across the street. Under sun and rain, these outfits can stay up for weeks.

Though not a car person, I was still intrigued by a BMW parked right in front, “How much does that car cost?”

“Four billion,” or $156K.

“Four billion?!”

“I’d rather buy a house.” All of Jason’s furniture were given to him.

This morning, I sat next to a man who’s always shirtless. Trapped sweat irritates his skin. Coming to Vung Tau 24 years ago, he found work as a housepainter. Making just over a buck a day, it took him six weeks to buy a $13 bicycle. This lasted until a couple weeks ago. Around 5:30AM, he was hit from behind by two assholes on a motorbike. Landing on the pavement, he escaped without even a broken bone. His wreck, he sold for scrap for just over $3.