THE STREET

As the morning mists of Danh Bay were being swallowed whole by the rising sun, I would be weaving my way through the rikshas and loud fishermen and reach the intersection of the main avenue with Moi Tinh street in full gallop, my heart pounding out of my chest.

On the one side of the street, the harbor was busy with the fishermen’s boats setting out to sea. Fish markets filled the air with mercantile chatterings seasoned with the smell of dead creatures of the sea. The buildings had put on cheap make up of dried salt and mold.

Moi Tinh street naturally followed the northward curvature of the bay’s beach, in the same way a 12-year-old boy would be following an angel-faced 15-year-old girl to her job at Huy’s fishmarket, every day, from the parallel sidewalk.

Just like the boy, the street would never lose sight of the beach, being there for her at every turn, pulsating with all kinds of human longings. And just like the girl, the beach would never glance back at the street, carried away by its wave-welcoming duties, remaining forever out of reach.