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February 6, 2004

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Vietnam's shape copies a jar handle. A major highway runs like a spine down its back. Travelers follow this road up or down. Everything runs either north or south, ascending to the communist brains in Hanoi, or descending to the capitalist stomach of Saigon. We follow a descending course. We wave at passing travelers headed for the northern mists. We seek a southern tan.
Take a wrong turn, end up on the sidewalk. Anything goes at the market.
The pork mobile.