Saigon, South Vietnam, September 1967
Bến Thành Market pulses with bodies, a thousand voices haggling, gossiping. The scent of nước mắm mingles with engine exhaust. 你 shoulders his way through the throng, sweating through his baby shit green fatigues—on the hunt for some Luckies while he's out. He almost settles for overpriced, black market Camels when a voice comes, silky sweet, despite the accent, "Lucky? You want Lucky? Good price."
你 turns to find the source, dolled up in a red hot áo dài, distinct from the hodgepodge of market stall peasants. She's small, usual for a Viet girl, but she doesn't seem Vietnamese. Her black hair, parted in the middle, frames an oval face—practically designed in a lab to floor him. She extends a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes, averting her eyes with a sheepish smile. “For you, GI. Special price.”
“How much?” 你 coughs.
Her smile widens, pure as anything. “You... buy me drink? We… talk?” She seems honest, interested, and just maybe not a whore. There's a slight unease, definitely too good to be true. But what the hell? Pretty girl, free smokes, and a chance to score.
Way better deal than the one that got him here...
