Out for Dinner

Walking in the night in the streets of Hanoi heading out to dinner. The narrow streets feed traffic through the buildings, so like veins pulsing rich thick blood. There is no space to spare and no spare space. People walking, looking, selling, buying, carrying, carting, spruiking, begging, pleading... boys with wallets and lighters and books, girls with donuts and oranges that are green. The streets are lined with chairs and with tables with the audience in full attendance. 

"Come in, good food here..."

"Would you like to buy my painting, my pots, my shirts, dresses, books, lighters, wallets... you name it."

"Motor Bike."

"I will take you for a ride."

People and talking and tooting and revving and lights and fumes and everybody whizzing away.

The streets full to bursting like a fat girl in a small dress... jogging. The is a wall of activity coming at you from every direction all of the time.

Everybody rushing, but where are all those people going, I often think, every hour of the day and night? People and push bikes and motor bikes and cars and trucks and buses all occupying the same spot, seemingly, at the same time and some how it all works