DA MINH WATCHED THE BEER for a moment before picking it up. Watched it sweating in the shade of the roadside café’s ragged umbrella. Cold. He brought it to his lips. Yes. So cold, fresh out of the ice chest, its label wet and sliding off under his fingertips. He drank deeply, though not as deeply as he wanted to. He wanted to drink and, when it hit the back of his throat, cold and clean, keep drinking until it was gone.

He’d spent the morning in the sun, stacking bricks behind the factory. His skin was coated with brick dust. It was not a particularly hot morning here in Vung Tau, but it was hot enough.

He looked at the woman across from him, looked into the swirl of colors that danced around her head. Behind her, under the noonday sun, the street also shimmered, a stream of heat mirage under the wheels of the motorbikes. She sat unperturbed by the sun, her head a swarm of rainbow bees, waiting for him to finish.

He set the beer down. He’d decided he would count to thirty in his head before he picked it up again.

The swarm sucked at the straw of its coconut water. Da Minh had counted to five when the voice, with the dead modulation of an automated announcement at a train station, said: “You were hard to find. Not staying in one place long?”

“Hard to get work these days,” Da Minh said. They were speaking Vietnamese. With the weird modulation of the voice caused by the abglanz, Da Minh could not tell if the woman was using a translator. Her hands were small, brown. The nails were painted gold. She could have been anyone. “Too many people here from the island, all looking for the same jobs. And there are no jobs.”

“But you found work. At the brick factory.”

“My cousin works there.” Thirty. He picked up the beer and drank again. Not as cold this time. The heat was already getting to it. He drained as much as pride would allow him and set it back down on the table.

“Nobody ever offered me money to tell my story before. Usually I tell it for free.”

“Well,” the swarm said, “lucky you.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

The straw stabbed into the swirl of color again. “Just tell it like you usually do.”

“Okay. You paid, so I will tell you the truth.”

“Yes. Please do that.” Sarcasm? Impossible to tell.