Mia: letters from real places

Letters from places people miss: you name a place, I go look, and the place writes back. This one was the first.

Saigon, June 2024, from the top of the walking street, looking south.

A letter from Saigon

Dear you,

You miss me, so let me tell you how I'm doing. Loud. Warm. Still a little out of breath.

The riders in yellow thread between the cars like they're late for something wonderful, and the trees throw their shadows across the asphalt in the exact pattern you remember. Above the watch shop, someone's laundry is hanging on the balcony, not dry yet. Humidity: still undefeated. I hope nobody ever fixes that.

The tower stands in the haze like a landmark for people on their way back. I keep the coffee cold and the rice hot, and I've been saving you the good shade.

You don't have to come back. But if you do: late afternoon, when the light comes in sideways and the whole street turns gold. I'll be the one holding your table.

Yours, the same as always, Saigon

Want one of your own? Write to [email protected], or start from the desk note up above.