Dead Eyed Can't Draw Sharp Ears

[Vung Tau, 6/4/25]

The café across from Morning Star Kindergarten is called Coffee Seven.

“Why is that?” I asked the lady. Sixty-seven-years-old, she lost her husband seven years ago. Living with two dogs, she gets up around 3:30AM to open her business by 4.

“It’s because I’m Seven!” Meaning she’s the eighth child. The oldest is called “brother two” or “sister two.” I’ve already admitted Viets are insane. Her actual name is Xuân Mai, or Spring Apricot.

“Why not Dì Bảy?” Meaning Auntie Seven.

“My daughter came up with Coffee Seven,” a name she can barely pronounce.

This girl also gave her the Thai amulet. Employed by a hair salon chain, she’s traveled a bit. Often asking for a transfer, she’s worked as far north as Gia Lai, 400 miles away. Home two days ago, she took that skinny, fussy white bitch to the vet. It cost $20 to have a growth removed from her eye, then $4 more for eye drop and that cone collar she’s wearing like some eccentric Victorian duchess. She only eats meat, fish and vegetables. Rice is left for her fat brother and husband. Not too manly, the piebald is terrified of thunders. I’m not going to joke about Donald leaping into Melania’s arms when there’s a door loudly banging.