-^-for posterity-^-

supper with the infamous xe om drivers.

i went to meet them at the bus station at about seven o’clock. they were all perched on top of their motorcycles talking and quietly smoking. as i approached, they smiled and all kick-started their honda dreams. gentle hello's were exchanged and we headed off to eat.

i followed them as they zipped through traffic. they drove smooth and fast and slid between other slower moving vehicles like melted butter. driving, after all, was their profession.

we stopped at a small, road side eatery that served two things. we sat down and talked.

of the three other drivers there, it was easy to see the hierarchy. the oldest man sat to my right and always told jokes and had a dirty nickname for each of the other drivers. the other drivers called him 'blinky' because he could do some strange things with his right eye. he was short and thick and smiled a lot. the man that sat across from me was the most amiable. his vietnamese was the clearest and we talked about what life was like in america and what i thought about vietnam. he was very interested, a bit pudgy, and he had a very round, bare face. the person that sat to his left was the youngest of the group. he smiled and spoke quickly. his hair was high and windswept. he was absurdly thin and, at appropriate moments would be very serious. when he was serious he would lower his head and raise his eyebrows.

we talked about when people were born and one of the drivers said that he was born in november. i asked what day and told him we should have a birthday party for him. he looked at me wryly. how could he have a birthday party when he could barely make enough money to get by. birthdays were for rich people.

we ate both of the dishes that the roadside stand offered. one was a kind of duck salad and the other was duck porridge. both were quite good and the whole meal cost three dollars. the drivers paid and refused to let me do anything.

they all showed me their national identity cards. it's a small card, much like a driver's license, that is issued to every person when they turn 18 years old. the pictures were old and worn and no one really looked the same. the cards said where the people were from, when they were born and, on the back, it described one identifying characteristic. for example, one of the drivers had a tiny mole on their left, lower eyelid and the card said that.

the youngest driver had two identification cards, one for him and one for his mother. his mother died recently and i could see it still really affected him. he was keeping her card to remember her. the card was well worn and there was a black and white picture of a very pretty, young girl. he looked at the card and fiddled it around in his hands. he was very young, only 18, even though he told me he was 24.

we said good-bye and they headed back to work. they would work through the night and sleep in the late morning. they would sit on their motorbikes as dirty, ancient busses drove by kicking up clouds of dirt. they would wait for little old ladies and business men to come home and they would ferry them anywhere for about twenty-five cents. i headed home and went to bed in my air conditioned apartment.