12:20 PM Hard Times at The Smooth Jams Cafe.

TiBo | Sept 5 1998: 1220 ICT | Smooth Jams Cafe: Dining Hall(10.781143390935265, 106.70007406353342) |District 1

Belted the Newscasters on the CRT Monitor. The smell of stale beer and fried foods wafted through the humid air and the framed relics of Western Rock Stars. 

“It is September 5, 1998, and The city is gearing up for another productive morning. It seems that the classic Saigon traffic rush has finally started to subside, and business begins to move as usual.”

In the front of the restaurant, near the window, sat a 25 year old Vietnamese girl dressed like a 40 year old Japanese woman. She kept her poise too straight, and perpendicular to her padded shoulders. She looked out of place in the bar preaching the gospel of American casual. Especially so since her date across the table seemed a devout adherent.

"Our top story today, Dong-hyun Park, former lead of K-pop band and Mutant Rights Activist, was convicted today of several gruesome murders. Including that of Ha-Jun Park her husband, and Suwon Electronics CEO.

The immaculately proportioned woman being carried away flashed her large canines as she was led by Korean police out of the courthouse. 

 BREAKING Fmr Gum HI-9 Singer convicted. Read the tagline below.

"You all think you are better than me! Because I ate a few lecherous livers, I am worthy of damnation? Look around you. Look at what you have become. Look what you have done!"

The handcuffed woman in black gown was led into the van, her white tails wrapping around her as she was forced in.

"Wow, she really is elegant isn't she?" Anh across the restaurant said to her date, who was picking away at his french fries. He turns to look.

"Hmm."

"Never mind."

Anh saw the smiling newscaster through the window reflection while looking at the rain drenched street of Hai Bia Trung outside. Swarms of bikes braved the rain as they did every day, between the newly developed glass of Japanese buildings and old yellow plaster of The French ones. 

Bikes carrying various necessities from passengers to cargo crates past the two bronze statues of Vietnam’s founding sisters graced the avenue: one bore a cross, the other a lotus.

“OK So, what's with the get up? I thought Lunch dates were supposed to be more casual."

“Because I am a Junior Executive for Saito Vietnam, and this is my lunch break.”

 Anh tried to sound indignant, but the truth was she took pride in her appearance. Its a question her Japanese coworkers would ask her as well. She had different answers for them. 

"Yeah, but your outfit is so, well, vintage. I mean - shoulder pads? I figured it was your mom’s or something.”

“No, my mother ran a coffee stand, and my father worked at the docks. I always wanted to dress like this." 

"Why?"

Anh spoke with both a little bit of indignation mixed with pride. "When I was a girl, mom would have the TV on in the grocery store. There was this one soap, the "evil auntie" who always sabotaged that one waif. What was her name? Anyways, she always looked so... strong and smart, and elegant."

“Oh wow! That's…cool." Corey tried to find his footing. 

“In Eastern Europe, fallout from the “Demon Core” continues to devastate the once breadbasket, as Soviet Premier Akhromayev …”

The usual crowd of bikes down the street slowed to a trickle, which for locals was the equivalent of the water running uphill. A couple of the more business-looking patrons go up to the counter, to request their check, or just leave money on the table with half eaten food. 

“You know, since I'm not an American, I don't have any of the restrictions that they have. So I can come in. And I've been really enjoying my time here. Your Airport is nicer than Hanoi's, but I think I prefer the North, It's just so much more spiritual there. I've been reading some of ...are you familiar with Buddhism?"

"Yes," replied the woman from a Buddhist family.

While he regaled Anh about his adventures in online encyclopedias, airport books, and Ottawa retreats, Anh looked around for a waitress to flag for the check.

Streams of protesters begin to march down from behind Anh, Buddhist monks with brown and orange robes, led Vietnamese working class men clutching lucky amulets and placards. 

Many wore  a common symbol: A lotus flower with a bomb as the stem. Some of the patrons of the bar looked on nervously before trying to get back to their conversations.

"And a special announcement from the Saito Corporation," the newscaster said, his stern, business-like smile bracing for impact.

 "This special report of 'what day is it today,' is brought to you by the beloved AI assistant Mitsuki Haiku!”

While still staring at the teleprompter, the newscaster kept his smile warm as he slowly pulled out a small, lunchbox-sized TV with a flickering CRT screen. The CRT screen flickered to life and the dancing image of a schoolgirl, sporting blue hair with large eyes danced along the screen.

The woman newscaster continued with forced joviality.

"So Haiku, what day is it today?"

The mouthless 3d figure blue-haired and large blue eyes danced and made a pose.

"Xin Chao, Sai Gon. Konichiwa! Today is the festival of Hungry Ghosts in Saigon. The day that Buddhists believe the dead are let out onto the earth!" Said the familiar vocaloid sing-song voice of Mitsuki Haiku

“Oh, that sounds scary, Haiku!” 

“Hai, Miyamoto-Sempai! But that’s why the Buddhists are extra careful to leave food and offerings out for all the hungry ghosts. They aren’t mean. They’re restless. So Be Nice!”

“Thank you Ms Haiku.” Said the newscaster, smile locked in place.

“Happy to help Miyamoto-sempai!  Mata ne, Sai-gon!”

“Mata Ne!”
"Mata Ne!"

The Haiku Units in the room each said their goodbyes to the dancing girl on the TV before returning to their duties. The large Japanese man shook his head and then continued his conversation with his own Mitsuki Haiku.

“See, that’s impressive!”  Said Corey with enthusiasm. “Ivy Bess M and Lady Bell can’t do that! Wait.. I thought the Catholic regime banned tech?"

"Treaty Port. Same reason you can get in …Canadian.”

Sirens wail. Up ahead, Anh looks past the statues to see the yellow and green uniforms of The Saigon’s Magistrate Personal Guard. They are establishing blockades ahead. 

She recognized the weapons and equipment. She helped with the sale after all. Police forces were equipped with Saito’s finest: State of the Art APCs, top of the line shock sticks and crowd disbursement equipment. 

The crowd at the bar seemed to be almost aggressively calm. As if they small talked loud enough they could conjure away the sight outside.

There was a time to get out. It was 10 minutes ago. Others thought so too. She saw patrons order more drinks, and others go to play with the Mitsuki Haiku near the bar and turn the music up.

“Hey…you work for Saito, do you think you could help me get one. Have you ever talked to Mitsuki Haiku?"

“Um, no sorry.” She of course did have one. It was given to her with her Promotion to Regional Sales Manger. The powerful Noospheric assistant remained in her purse to help her keep track of schedules and calls. She called it TiBo, and talked to it in the shower.

A crowd was beginning to gather outside the truck and the priests. Corey tried to hide his nervousness as the orange robed figures began to flock around the street towards the corner.

Anh straightened the sleeves on her button-down coat, again looking for the waiter or waitress to catch their attention. She finally got one. The waitress, dressed as a “Stage hand” in a black polo and black jeans came to the table, occasionally looking out the window.

"You want more? Or would you like the check?" The woman quickly recited her broken English with her broken hospitality smile.

The man across from her decided to be a gentleman. He gets up and pulls his plastic card from his wallet.

"No card here."

"Well, I didn't want to necessarily show my Ðong to a lady this early in the day." He laughed at his own joke and handed the waitress the wad of money. Anh's thick make-up hid the color draining from her face.

"Your đong no good here." She pushed the blue and green bills away. Corey stifled a laugh and then looked at the waitress. The humor wasn't infectious.

Anh patiently explained. “Wrong Vietnam. Why didn't you exchange your money at the airport?”

Corey sheepishly stammered while looking through his wallet, the peacock of notes seemingly contained currency from the entire world. Anh groaned and fished a Saigon Real from her purse.

The Newscasters continued their report news.

“In Local News, The Relic of The True Cross has made its way to Saigon processional route from Phenom Pheh where it will reach The Patriarch in Hue to commemorate the feast on September 14th.”

The woman continues, "Patriarch Antoine Năn Thiện spoke this morning following the morning Angelus..."

An elderly man dressed somewhere between a pope and Ming Emperor stood on the tv clutching his crozier and spoke with what force his age allowed him to.

“Today all Indochina, both the faithful and the Buddhist, are thinking of the dead. I ask during this time as the True Cross, enters your city that you bring your prayers to it.

The Cross once carried in sorrow through Jerusalem, in triumph to Rome and in Sorrow out of it now enters yours. Pray with me, Saigon, I beg you, indeed, all of Indochina, pray, pray for our restless dead, and pray for the restless living who survive them."

In these dark times look to the lifted cross for peace past ourselves and our petty politics to think for those who are suffering in silence.”

Anh didn’t need to see the TV to hear about this, the Trucks were there outside the window, tarps and umbrellas as clergy struggled against the rain and mob.

In the window she could see herself, powdered make up too light, eyes too stern, brows too sharp, and hair too tight. All  in contrast to her date's gawking reflection in the glass.

“Perhaps we can go to a pagoda together sometime,  me and you. There is one near Bu Vien that…”

“I don't think that's likely.” 

Anh said, trying not to sound either too hopeful or too ominous.

That's when the first gunshot was heard.