transtrion

The two dirty white fans in the ceiling does barely create a breeze in the bar. I watch their slow circular pace for a while without any major interest. There's a restlessness i here, barely visible to a newcomer. We notice it, because we've all been here for a long time. A way too long time. Outside the big wooden blinds is the noise of the city, just calming down during the pressing heat of midday. I would assume they've closed the windows, but the heat makes me unsure. I whip the sweat of my forehead with a napkin. Richards at the opposite table does the same.

I'm sitting in the corner just next to the main entrance, occupying one of the three metal-chairs around that round table. The tables are white, almost, and so is the floor, the ceiling and the walls not covered in a dark wooden panel, probably oak. Not that I know, I just always assumed it was. Behind the bar desk, possibly also in oak, stands the barman slowly cleaning a glass with a towel. Beside the slowly ticking from the fans and the occasional click from a cup is that the only sound being made. At least being noticed, there's always a background noise in this city.

The other two chairs around my table are empty, as they always are. Nobody ever sits down with another one to talk, not here. It's the same at Richards table by the wall, closest to mine, and the same with the other three tables. Johnson in the middle sometimes have a visitor by his table, but they rarely talk. Not in here. There's not that much to talk about, when it comes down to it. Everyone is always reading some important-looking paper or writing in tiny notebooks. Not that there is much to write about. I take another sip of my bourbon. It stings on the way down. Thompson across the room takes a sip of his coffee.

This is our western refuge, our oasis of peace in the Vietnamese jungle. Even the barman is a westerner, not that I've ever heard him speak a word. No one speaks here, not in this bar. I finish my glass of water and nods to the barman. Words are unnecessary here, just a look tells you all there is to know. I can read a lot from the other guests at the bar. There is an restlessness growing in here, in Saigon.