It’s 10pm. The old quarter, Hanoi. The water droplets which have not made it to the sewers sit in puddles on the badly paved road.
A white SUV, symbol of wealth. You have a broom and slippers that are about to snap. You come out at night, like the rats. You sweep through the rubbish and leaf litter, like the rats. Poor, like the rats. A family, like the rats.
The street light gives off a pale yellow light. You feel warm. Your dirty sandals, they protect you. Your leathery hands, they give you hope.