Category: VIETNAM

SAIGON, VIETNAM 🇻🇳: THE FIRST WEEK OF MAY IN COFFEE

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A cà phê sữa đá on a busy median.
Traffic whizzing by, but somehow, sitting on a tiny red stool with sweet coffee in my hand became the only thing I noticed. The coffee lady looked lonely out there in the middle of the chaos — cars, trucks, motorbikes rushing past with no pause, her little cart full of drinks waiting for customers. So I stayed a while. Maybe made her day a little less lonely. Maybe she did the same for me.

Sunday morning blog posting requires a little less chaos and a little more air conditioning. Highlands Coffee in Pham Ngu Lao.

On Monday mornings, I wake up before the church bells, before the roosters, and certainly before any coffee ladies. So, on those mornings, I have a canned coffee waiting in the wings of my arsenal (you may call it a mini fridge.)

This brand happens to be deeply tied to the “First Lady of Coffee” in Vietnam, Le Hoang Diep Thao.

To understand King Coffee, you have to look back at Trung Nguyen, the powerhouse brand founded in 1996 by Le Hoang Diep Thao and her then-husband, Dang Le Nguyen Vu.

• TNI Label: Notice the “TNI” logo at the top, which stands for Trung Nguyen International—the entity Thao managed.

• The Flavor Profile: It is designed to mimic the “Vietnamese Bold Style,” which typically uses Robusta beans for a high caffeine content and a distinct, smoky bitterness. Hello!

• Cultural Iconography: The design featuring a woman in an Áo dài and a Nón lá (conical hat) is a deliberate choice to brand the coffee as an authentic cultural export of Vietnam. 🇻🇳

Lime Zest Coffee: Cà phê chanh

One of this week’s specialty coffees was at Café Linh, tucked around Trương Định and Phạm Hồng Thái. Coffee with lime zest — sharp, bitter, refreshing all at once. Vietnam never runs out of ways to reinvent coffee without ruining it! Holla!

Lime Coffee: Strong Vietnamese drip coffee (cà phê phin) served over ice with a squeeze of fresh lime juice and sometimes lime zest grated on top. Some versions add a thin layer of salted cream or condensed milk. Zesty!

Another stop was a mild but tasty cà phê sữa đá on Đỗ Quang Đẩu Street. The young staff guy there had the kind of genuine smile that makes decisions for me. The café next door wanted my business more aggressively, but this place earned it quietly. 😊

The now-famous, ultra-trendy Café Apartments Building at 42 Nguyen Hue.
Mint coffee: Cà phê bạc hà at Good Day Tea and Coffee on the 8-9 floors

The flavor logic is straightforward. Mint cools. Vietnamese coffee is dark, bitter, and heavy. The mint lifts it, adds a cold brightness that hits your nose before it hits your tongue. 😛

My Ray Bans

One of my favorite moments this week came before 8am on Đỗ Quang Đẩu. Sitting with a ca Phe den đá, watching the city wake itself up in real time. Motorbikes flowing toward school drop-offs and office jobs. Street vendors emerging from narrow hẻms, deciding where to set up for the day. Women carrying boards of sunglasses and lighters trying to sell me shades while I’m already wearing prescription Ray-Bans. You have to respect the hustle.

Ca Phe den da (straight black, no sugar, no milk)

Between about 7:00 and 7:40 there’s this brief window where Saigon feels almost gentle. A little breeze moving through the streets before the sun fully takes over. The more pleasant the weather, the longer I sit and read. Currently reading “A Naked Singularity” by Sergio De La Pava.

But eventually the heat wins.

That’s usually when I go searching for my breakfast bánh mì from my favorite lady — the one who adds tomatoes without charging extra, then refuses to accept the extra 5,000 đồng tip I want to give her because I appreciate the gesture. It’s become our daily little battle. One I eventually win. 😊

The best Banh mi lady at 13 Do Quang Dao in Pham Ngu Lao

Vietnam keeps giving. And I keep receiving with gratitude. 🙏

May 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM 🇻🇳: Last Week in April ~ Coffee, Alleys, and the Small Lessons of Saigon

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The last week of April, melting into the first week of May (today, as I write this, it is 89•F, feeling like 98•F with a warning of “excessive heat” *31•C, 37•C) felt like it should—hot, loud, imperfect, and somehow full of small moments that mattered.

In the middle of a bustling, chaotic market, I sat down and drank my first cà phê sữa đá of the week. Not in paper, not takeaway, but in a proper glass—the way I prefer it. There’s something about that glass that says we both understand the arrangement. I’m not rushing anywhere. I’m going to sit here, right at your cart, and drink this coffee the way it was meant to be drunk.

Street coffee in Saigon isn’t about convenience. It’s about presence.

Yoghurt Coffee

One of my favorite stops this week was for yoghurt coffee—cà phê sữa chua—down Phạm Ngũ Lão alley. That one always carries nostalgia for me because I spent so much time in that alley over twenty years ago at the Bread and Butter Bar. Walking back there now feels like stepping into an older version of myself.

Yoghurt coffee feels very Saigon to me—practical and inventive. Someone looked at coffee and thought, “Yes, but what if we made it colder, creamier, sharper?” And somehow it works. The bitterness of strong Vietnamese coffee against the cool tang of yoghurt—it shouldn’t, but it absolutely does. It tastes like adaptation. Like a city constantly reinventing itself without losing its center. I still prefer Coconut Coffee as my specialty coffee here.

In that same alley, the following day, I had my first negative vibe of my entire tenure so far.

I was sitting, drinking, taking a few exterior photos of the space around me—not bothering anyone—and the coffee lady gave me that unmistakable energy. You know the one. Suspicion mixed with disapproval, served without words. She didn’t approve of my picture-taking, not understanding that it was nothing intrusive, just exterior. If she only understood the series I’ve been doing, 😆.

She proceeded to stand in front of me and overtly take a photo of me, as though my mugshot would go up on her wall.

My first reaction was internal: Be zen. Don’t let her strange behavior affect your day.

And honestly, it became a beautiful little meditation. I reminded myself: “you are healthy, you are fortunate enough to be sitting in an alley in Saigon drinking coffee—let it go.” So I did. I even found myself grateful to her for the lesson. 🙇‍♀️

As for having my photo taken? I don’t mind at all. Daily life gets photographed here constantly. We are all part of someone else’s background story. Just a weird experience.

Cô Ba Thì Café
Writing so much this week

Met a lovely married couple sitting next to me today and ended up being gifted something I’d never tried before — Bánh Tráng Kẹo Mạch Nha 🥥🍯

A light rice cake topped with coconut shavings and a sticky, sweet malt syrup drizzle… simple and absolutely delicious.

They told me it was their childhood snack, something they hadn’t had in a long time, so today was a little treat for them, too.

Their phone translator helped us talk, and somehow that made it even better — strangers sharing stories, laughter, and food across languages.

For me, travel isn’t about the big sights. It’s a sidewalk table, kind people, and a sweet little rice cake I’ll never forget.

Saigon keeps giving me these moments. ❤️ Forever grateful.

Another reminder came at a corner draped in shade, protecting me from the intense heat already rising, near the intersection of Lê Lai and…honestly, I forgot the cross street, but I’ll find it again because the coffee lady there deserves remembering.

She got a kick out of my Vietnamese. 😆

I’ve realized something: if I begin with one or two practiced phrases—just enough to show respect—they’ll happily continue speaking Vietnamese the entire time I sit there. I nod, smile, and understand maybe twenty percent. They think I understand more than I do, but somehow that’s enough.

And maybe that’s the point.

Connection first. Perfect language later.

That first “Hit” from a Ca Phe Sua Da before the ice begins to melt…one of the things I live for.

She doesn’t talk much, which I like. Coffee ladies understand the assignment. They give you space to sit quietly, to read, to write, to simply be. Sometimes she brings an extra cup of tea without a word. That kind of kindness says more than conversation.

Reunification Day brought me to TABAC on Phạm Ngũ Lão for a straight black cà phê đen đá and some quiet writing. Saigon during holidays has its own rhythm—reflective, but still moving.

Saigon moves in its own way. I’m learning to be comfortable moving in my own way. The daily lessons from the coffee help…

April 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM 🇻🇳: FOOD IN APRIL

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Gỏi cuốn

Gỏi cuốn — fresh rice paper rolls packed with vermicelli, herbs, lettuce, and your choice of shrimp, pork, or both. Mine had both. No frying, no fuss. Just clean, bright flavors wrapped tight and served with peanut dipping sauce. Vietnam in one bite.

Bún thịt nướng

Bún thịt nướng — rice vermicelli noodles topped with smoky chargrilled pork, crisp bean sprouts, fresh herbs, crushed peanuts, and a splash of nước chấm fish sauce dressing. Cold noodles, hot meat, everything in between. Saigon in a bowl.

My favorite: Cơm tấm sườn

Cơm tấm sườn — broken rice topped with a chargrilled pork chop, served with a fried egg, shredded pork skin, cucumber, pickled vegetables, and a pool of sweet fish sauce on the side. Humble ingredients, serious flavor. The dish Saigon wakes up to every morning.

Eating it almost on the daily…
Steak and Cheese Bánh mì at Banh Mi Ut Thuong 📍
28/11A Tôn Thất Tùng, P. Bến Thành, Quận 1
Ham and Cheese Melt with Fries at Big Boss Bistro 📍
45 Trần Hưng Đạo, Phường Nguyễn Thái Bình, Quận 1
“Little Miss Piggy” – a delicious panini packed with avocado, chicken, bacon, and lettuce at The Hungry Pig Café 📍
40/24 Bùi Viện, Phường Phạm Ngũ Lão, Quận 1
Bánh Tráng Kẹo Mạch Nha 🥥🍯

Bánh Tráng Kẹo Mạch Nha – A light rice cake topped with coconut shavings and a sticky, sweet malt syrup drizzle.

April 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM 🇻🇳: THIS WEEK IN COFFEE ~ MANGO 🥭 DELIGHT

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At a café on Phạm Ngũ Lão, the experiment of the week. Mango and coffee may sound like a bad decision until the first sip proves otherwise.

Sweet fruit cream against the dark bitterness of robusta, tropical and strange and somehow perfect for Saigon. It shouldn’t work, but it does. Like most things here.

This week tasted like crushed ice, condensed milk, and slow mornings under cloudy skies.

It started with the neighborhood coffee lady. No grand introduction, just small gestures, quiet smiles. In Saigon, coffee often begins not with the drink, but with the person handing it to you.

Then came the can of Nescafé Café Việt, coffee in its simplest grab-and-go form. Not romantic, maybe, but honest. Sweet, strong, practical. Feeling nostalgic for Japanese vending machines at times like these.

The darkest cà phê sữa đá of the week was on Nguyễn Trãi. Poured almost backwards—thick black coffee settling first, and then the condensed milk was poured on top.

The coffee lady taught me to do the two-handed shake to force the condensed milk to filter throughout the cup.
A “hit” like no other!

Near Bến Thành Market, under a cloudy sky, the city moved in its usual way: scooters weaving, vendors calling, tourists pausing for photos, and somewhere in the middle of it all, another red plastic table and stool waiting for another coffee.

Back in my neighborhood, hẻm coffee reminded me why street coffee always wins. Crushed ice, quiet workers eating breakfast before the day really begins. Just the soft clatter of spoons against glasses and the hum of a city waking up.

This week in coffee was about noticing more rituals around it—the lady who questions my passion until she sees me grab a red stool with no intention of getting my coffee to go, the men and women eating their pre-work breakfasts in silence, the cafés hidden in alleys, the cloudy mornings near markets, and the accidental brilliance of mango and espresso.

I know I say some version of this every week, but it’s true. In Saigon, coffee is never just coffee.

It is routine.
It is geography.
It is conversation.
It is the city itself.

April 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM: THIS WEEK IN COFFEE ~ THE RITUAL

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Cà phê cam. Orange coffee. A newer addition to Saigon’s coffee scene, trendy in the last few years, though it’s still less common than salt coffee or coconut coffee.

The drink is straightforward: strong Vietnamese drip coffee (cà phê phin) combined with fresh orange juice and usually a splash of sweetened condensed milk or simple syrup, served over ice.
The flavor is divisive, to say the least. The bright acidity of fresh orange cuts through the bitter dark roast and the condensed milk rounds it all out. At its best it tastes like a coffee cocktail without the alcohol. At its worst it tastes like someone ruined a perfectly good coffee with juice. That’s kind of my take on it. Orange juice with a splash of coffee. Refreshing, but I’m not interested in having another one. Not when red stools still exist on the streets.
It originated in the trendier third-wave cafes in Saigon and Hanoi over the past few years. You won’t find it at the old-school sidewalk stalls run by grandmothers. Which I will be returning to pronto.
This week began with sunrise.
There’s a certain kind of light in Saigon in the early morning — soft, warm, and already alive with movement. The streets are never empty, just quieter, as if the city is stretching before fully waking. I found myself sitting at a street coffee stand, watching a small group of men gather in what felt like ritual. They invited me to sit with them, but I declined because they were smoking.

At first, the smoke bothered me.
Cigarettes lit one after another, wafting towards me, mixing with the sweet sensation of my coffee. For a moment, I felt like I had to get my coffee to go. But then came the realization: this wasn’t just habit.

It was ritual.
Coffee and cigarettes.
A daily rhythm. Their culture.
A kind of quiet companionship. I’m a guest.
I returned to a small hem in my neighborhood, where I had invited myself to join two men for a beer earlier in the week, because I always see them sitting in front of this restaurant — I had been walking longer than expected, searching for a cà phê sữa đá, when I came across them sitting there casually yet again, drinking cà phê đen đá.
I asked, in my still-developing Vietnamese, if they had what I was looking for.
“Yes.”
A simple answer. A gesture to sit.
So I did.
And then… I waited.
Longer than you would ever expect to wait for an iced coffee. Long enough to begin questioning whether I had misunderstood. Long enough to realize something important: this wasn’t really a coffee shop.
Eventually, one of the men walked off.
Then he returned, carrying a box of condensed milk.
What followed was something improvised, almost playful — a makeshift coffee, assembled not from a menu, but from intention.
He handed it to me, and I drank it slowly.
Not because I had to wait so long, but because it felt like the right thing to do.
When I finished, I paid him. He gave me my change, nodded, and without ceremony, got on his motorbike and rode off — as if the entire exchange had simply been a small, natural part of his day. That’s one of the things about the Vietnamese. I invited myself to have a beer with them previously, and now we have an unspoken bond that will last the tenure of my stay.
That’s what this week in coffee taught me.
That coffee here isn’t always about the drink. It’s about the space it creates. The pauses it allows. The small, human exchanges that happen around it.
Sometimes it’s ritual — shared between people who have been sitting in the same spot for years.
Sometimes it’s improvisation — a coffee made just because you asked for one.
This coffee lady was very impressed with my Vietnamese, and even after I paid, she kept filling up my glass with tea, until I finally had to say, “I really must be going now…”
Sometimes it’s the slow realization that you are no longer just observing these moments, but quietly becoming part of them.
In Saigon, coffee doesn’t always come from a menu.
Sometimes, it comes from a gesture.
A nod.
A willingness to sit and wait.
And that, more than anything, is what makes it worth drinking.
Accompanied by a teapot on this morning.
The always attentive Ca Phe Lady. Bringing my Ca Phe Sua Da to join my tea, my notebook where I record these moments, and my iPad which carries my books that I read whilst I linger…
Another Coconut Coffee. This one is from Cong Ca Phe. It’s good, yes, but the best one is still from Baka Coffee, which I had on my birthday.
Coconut Coffee at Cong Ca Phe on Ton That Tung Street.
I was sitting at Cộng Cà Phê, nursing a coconut coffee through the morning heat, when a woman came by selling lottery tickets. She was working the Vietnamese customers, and I said hi when she passed, because she sat with me on my very first Day 1 of coffee at the church on Ton That Tung. Nothing. Not a glance, not a pause. My existence didn’t register at all.

And I just sat there with it. The coffee was still good—creamy, sweet, that slight coconut edge that makes Vietnamese coffee feel like a treat rather than a caffeine delivery system. And chilled. But I was elsewhere, turning this thing over in my head. The asymmetry of it. How I had remembered that moment, this woman, that particular morning in March, and she didn’t. I was just another foreigner in a city full of them, another non-sale, another face that didn’t make the cut for memory.

It got me thinking about detachment. Real detachment, not the Instagram kind. The understanding that most of what you feel is yours alone. The encounters you treasure, the connections you think you made—often they’re just you, performing significance for an audience that isn’t watching. She had a living to make. I had a coffee and too much time to think.

That’s the thing about traveling alone. You become hyper-aware of your own narrative, the story you’re telling yourself about yourself, while everyone around you is just… living. Working. Getting through the day. You’re the protagonist of a movie no one else is watching.
I finished the coffee. Walked out into the noise of the street. The lesson, if there was one, was already absorbed: let people be free of the weight of your memory. Carry what you need to carry. Don’t demand reciprocity from strangers.
A small hem where the neighborhood congregates in the mornings.
This gang of four. Have probably known each other for years. Morning Coffee Ritual. Gossip central. Community.

April 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM 🇻🇳: THIS WEEK IN STREET COFFEE AND SPECIALTY COFFEE

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Cà phê bơ. Avocado coffee. Or more accurately, an avocado smoothie with coffee blended or poured on top.

The drink itself: ripe avocado, sweetened condensed milk, ice, and sometimes a splash of regular milk, all blended into a thick pale-green smoothie. Then a shot of strong Vietnamese drip coffee (cà phê phin) is poured over the top, or stirred in. The coffee cuts the sweetness. The avocado softens the bitterness. The condensed milk binds it all together. You drink it with a thick straw or a spoon because it’s closer to a milkshake than a coffee.

I wanted to drink straight iced black coffee all week, but I’m too addicted to the rich Ca Phe Sua Da now. 😆
Perfect mornings are Vietnamese coffee and writing ✍️.
This week, I visited more hem (alley) coffee stands , off of the main streets.
I love the coffee stands with graffiti around. 😊
Pouring the condensed milk 🥛 into a cup, preparing the Ca Phe Sua Da.
Quynh Coffee Stand in my hem.

April 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM 🇻🇳: WEEK 2 OF THE STREET COFFEE LIFE

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If Week 1 was about finding my bearings, Week 2 was about finding my seat—usually a red or blue plastic stool no more than six inches off the ground. In Ho Chi Minh City, the best views aren’t from the skyscrapers; they’re from the curb.


The Liquid Gold: Egg Coffee at Eggyolk
I started the week treating myself to a masterpiece. Cà Phê Trứng (Egg Coffee) is less of a drink and more of a dessert. Watching the layers of creamy, whisked yolk sit atop that intense Vietnamese coffee is a ritual in itself. It’s the perfect “slow” start in a city that rarely hits the brakes.

There is a specific kind of peace found at 6:00 AM across from Bến Thành Market. While waiting for the currency exchange to open, I sat with a Cà Phê Sữa Đá and watched the city wake up. At that hour, the air is still relatively cool, the motorbikes are a steady hum rather than a roar, and the coffee hits just a little bit harder.

One of my favorite captures this week was outside the Central Post Office. I caught two local guys posing for photos while I sat with my own iced milk coffee. It’s a classic Saigon scene: the juxtaposition of grand colonial architecture and the effortless, cool street style of the younger generation.

The uncle at the “Cold Drinks” stands in his plaid shirt smiling and he is as warm as the coffee is cold. Pham Ngu Lao.

The latter half of the week took me to The Simple Cafe.
Coconut 🥥 Coffee

There is something incredibly grounding about buying a coffee from a stainless steel cart on the sidewalk.
Peace, ✌️, Peace ✌️

In Saigon, you don’t just drink coffee; you inhabit it. You sit, you watch the traffic, you study your Vietnamese notes, and you realize that the “simple life” is actually quite vibrant.

Quick Tips from the Sidewalk:

• Cà Phê Sữa Đá: Your best friend for 90°F (32°C) humidity.

• The Stool Rule: If there’s a plastic stool, it’s a legitimate cafe. Don’t be shy!

• Timing: Hit the markets early. The energy at sunrise is unmatched.

April 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM: 12 DAYS OF FOOD IN MARCH

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Bánh mì. The French left behind Catholicism, colonial architecture, and the baguette. Vietnam kept all three and improved at least one of them. The Vietnamese baguette is lighter and crispier than the French original because they cut the wheat flour with rice flour, which makes the crust shatter when you bite into it. Inside for me: pickled daikon and carrot, cucumber, cilantro, eggs, pork or whatever protein you point at. I bought mine outside a Circle K because that’s where the cart was. It cost 20,000 VND. Less than a dollar. I ate it sitting on a red plastic stool on the sidewalk like everyone else. The Circle K behind me sells sandwiches too. Nobody goes inside.
Cơm tấm sườn. Broken rice with grilled pork. This is the one. If you forced me to eat one meal for the rest of my time in Vietnam, this is it and I wouldn’t complain. A plate of broken rice, a slab of pork chop grilled until the edges go dark and sweet, sliced cucumber on the side, and then the woman pours green onion oil over the whole thing from a small bowl like she’s anointing it. If she doesn’t do it, I will. The rice isn’t broken by accident. It’s the fractured grains left over from milling, originally poor people’s food, now the signature dish of Saigon. Every neighborhood has a cơm tấm stall. Every one of them thinks theirs is best. I haven’t found one that’s wrong. The pork is marinated in lemongrass and fish sauce and garlic and sugar, and when it hits the charcoal grill the smell travels half a block and pulls you in by the stomach before your brain can object. It costs about 35,000 to 50,000 VND. That’s less than two dollars. I eat it almost every day and I’m not tired of it.
Phở. I’m not going to pretend I have something original to say about phở. Everybody writes about phở. But nobody tells you what it feels like at 7am on a plastic stool in District 1 when the broth has been simmering since 3am and the woman hands you a bowl so hot the steam fogs your sunglasses. You add the herbs yourself from a plate on the table. Tear the basil. Squeeze the lime. Drop in the chili. The noodles are flat and soft and you pull them up with chopsticks and they never quite make it to your mouth without dripping broth down your chin and nobody cares because everyone around you is doing the same thing. Phở in Saigon is not the same as phở in Hanoi. Southerners add hoisin and sriracha. Northerners think this is a crime. I’m not getting involved. I just eat it.
Cơm tấm sườn

What I’ve been reminded of about eating in Saigon: the best food is never inside a building. NEVER. The best food has no menu, or a menu you can’t read, or a menu that’s just a woman pointing at what she’s already made. The best food costs less than two dollars. The best food finds you.

Canh bí đỏ nấu thịt bằm. Pumpkin soup with ground pork. This one showed up as a side dish at a com binh dan place, one of those everyday rice-and-whatever restaurants where you point at trays behind glass and they load your plate. The soup is clear broth with chunks of golden pumpkin, loose ground pork, and chopped green onions. Nothing in it is trying to impress you. It’s the kind of thing someone’s mother made because the pumpkin was ripe and there was pork in the fridge. It was ok and I’ll drink the broth if it is served on the side again. It isn’t something I would order as a standalone.

March 2026

SAIGON, VIETNAM: STREET COFFEE STANDS & SPECIALTY COFFEES WEEK 1, DAY 7 ~ SALT COFFEE

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My notebook and pen already on the table.

Tried the salt coffee. Cà phê muối. Watched him build it. Strong coffee on the bottom, ice in the middle, then that salted cream poured over the top, thick and slow, curling into itself like it knew I was taking a photo. The cream is whipped with sea salt until it’s heavy and smooth, and when it hits the coffee it just sits there on top, refusing to mix until you tell it to.

First sip through the cream and it doesn’t taste salty. It tastes like someone fixed everything that’s wrong with bitter coffee without adding sugar. The salt tricks your tongue into tasting sweetness that isn’t there. Invented in Hue in 2010 by a husband and wife who needed their cafe to stand out. Now it’s on every menu in the country.

A week of coffee in Saigon and I’ve gone from straight black on a plastic stool to coconut coffee in a cocktail glass to salt cream poured from a pitcher at a street cart. This city keeps finding new ways to put caffeine in my bloodstream and I keep letting it.

27march26

SAIGON, VIETNAM: STREET COFFEE STANDS, WEEK 1, DAY 5 ~ NO SMALL TALK

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Day 5. Found a spot down a quiet alley. More importantly, it was cooler and shadier than the sun-soaked street. Cà phê sữa đá and the usual trà đá on a blue plastic stool that doubled as my table. Iconic Red chair. Motorbikes. Shuttered buildings. The coffee lady made my drink, set it down, and left me alone. No small talk, no hovering, no checking in. Just the coffee and the street.

Some mornings you want the interaction. You want the lady to hand you corn and gesture at you to eat. You want the chaos. But this morning I needed the other thing. Silence and space and a plastic cup sweating in the heat while I sat back and let my brain unspool. Wrote in my head for an hour. Didn’t touch my phone. Just watched the alley do its slow morning stretch and drank my coffee until the ice melted and it wasn’t worth finishing anymore.

Twenty-three years of this life and I still haven’t found a better office than a plastic chair on a sidewalk in a city that doesn’t know my name.

25march 26