I wouldn’t come here to be honest

I wouldn’t come here to be honest.

Ho Chi Minh city is just, you know… bustling and chaos.

The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about me, and that special stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get out of the city—all worked painfully upon the young generation’s already overwrought nerves. That’s why people leaving here always need to be healed. I laugh at myself.

I did not grow up here, but temporarily live here

with 10 million others. 

And then it’s raining. The downpour transforms the streets, washing away some of the dust and chaos, if only for a moment.

I reckon things aren’t that bad.