Saigon.

Morning. Heat hung moist and heavy, blurring lines. Clothes clung to bodies, and movements seemed to glide. I floated among these narrow alleys, breathing lightly to avoid Nhieu Loc Canal's rotten stink, afraid to disturb the seemingly secret lives underneath these make-shift roofs. A pair of eyes twinkled in the blue haze of the morning, curiously peering from within the gentle darkness that enfolded the neighborhood. I pressed on, my conspicuously ankle boots crunching the earth, day-old rainwater, skin of a persimmon fruit, and heroin needles. This was not the first time I made my move…