my friend came to see me this morning. she gave me a red bag of souvenirs from her recent trip to vietnam. it’s 7 in the morning, and we walked around the neighborhood, smoking as we make our way towards the bakery. we share a paper bag of freshly made bread, warm and crisp, soft on my aching teeth. i drank a latte made of palm sugar. we sit in front of my apartment and send a video to our friend who wasn’t around, wishing she was with us as well. my heart and my stomach doesn’t know hunger.