“Last night, a snake crept onto Lam’s bed,” someone started. “Oh my god. She felt something slippery, threw off her blanket, then jumped up and down. She was very lucky. If that snake had bitten her, we would have been at her funeral today.” 

The stormy season came late this year. Not until the 7th lunar month did the news incessantly broadcast forecasts about the first storm of the year heading in from the East Sea. 

Although the fast-food restaurant owned by Thanh was located in the outskirts of a German town, customers crowded in for lunch in great numbers as there were many offices, factories and small workshops nearby. To serve them more comfortably, one day the owner had to hire an assistant to cook and deliver food. 

Leaving his hometown for Ho Chi Minh City, Han brought me a lot of fried beef, fish paste and fruit. When he arrived at the dormitory of the College of Medicine, he sat outside the gate to wait for me. 

“New customers are coming, dad!” Demi called excitedly. Noel frowned, put a pile of bills into the drawer, rearranged his shirt collar, straightened its hems, and walked out. 

For all of their lives, Ba and Bay, two young men of the same village, had only one dream: winning the national lottery jackpot. Within their budget, they tried to save money so that every three days they could buy a lottery ticket from a wandering vendor while having a few cups of coffee or tea at Miss Hau’s refreshment stall. 

Nguyen hesitantly stopped his bike at the three-way crossroads. Long Thanh Village looked so different now. Nguyen looked around for the haggardness of more than 20 years before, but couldn’t find any trace of it.