Where Goes?!

[Vung Tau, 1/9/26]

Before I could take the minibus to Saigon, I had to go to Sacombank. On the way, I stopped at that alley café, the cheapest I know of in Vung Tau. Last time, I had left my Viet poetry book for a security guard. Who knows what he makes of it? When I got here today, he’s gone.

A dark, bony man had both feet on his chair. Since it’s cool today, he’s wearing a thin jacket. After buying several lottery tickets, he said to his friend, “There’s never enough money. You work, you work, but there’s never enough money. Even if you have a lot of money, it’s not enough. More money, more desires!”

“My son is always asking for money. ‘Dad, can I have some money?’”

“He’s asking because you have money. If you didn’t have any, he wouldn’t ask!”

Last time, a woman shouted when I left, “Giép đâu?!” “Where shoes?” is the literal translation. She didn’t say, “Where are your shoes, uncle?” Just, “Where shoes?!”

In Empoli two decades ago, an African shouted at a train I was on, “Doe va?!” A retard like me would have said, “Dove va questo treno, signore?” Much more fluent, he simply said, “Where goes?” In African garb, this streetwise survivor sold Chinese made souvenirs or fake leather goods to every nationality imaginable on Italian streets. A pussy like me wouldn’t last two days.