To start, I am alone. I am in college—freshman year. And just because I'm a freshman, don't you dare write me off as another homesick, bummer boy who's just crying about how he can't go home to mommy. It doesn't always work like that. This is my first piece of writing work on Vocal, so don't judge too hard.
I was dodging the traffic when I nearly bumped into her, or perhaps she just skilfully scooped me up from the throng of visitors preoccupied with avoiding being run over by one of the thousands of motorbikes, scooters, buses, taxis, and cars that are omnipresent on Ho Chi Minh City’s filthy streets.
I think I'm a pretty dominant kind of woman. I'm the executive of a huge company—think billions of dollars per year—and I have lots of people who count on me to tell them what to do. That's why I wanted to talk to you about your deliveries here. Every time you bring a package to my office, I somehow lose face with my staff. I can tell. An experienced manager always knows. So what are you doing? Spreading rumors? Opening my letters? Spill.
I recognized your beautiful broad shoulders catch the light as you entered. Your strong body moving through an undulating crowd, the air thick with sounds, smells, and flavours. I hoped desperately that you’d notice me, bound to my chair, gagged, and eager, tucked into a dark corner to watch.