Matt sits in the Eco Hostel lounge in Ho Chi Minh City, staring at the Vietnamese-translated Korean soap opera playing on the small LCD bolted to the wall. He’s waiting for one of his dorm mates, Carlijn, to come back downstairs so they can head out. Next to him, his newfound British friend sits as well, both hungry for dinner (though the Brit waits for ‘tea’, since his ‘dinner’ would be what Americans call ‘lunch’). They’re going to going to Ốc Tre Một, a local seafood restaurant that Matt’s sleeper car friend Thắng had invited them to.
Complicating matters of narrative, the Brit’s name is also Matt.
“And you’re sure there’ll be something I can eat there?” British Matt asks. “I can do some fish filets, but you know I’m none too keen on seafood like squid and mussels and such.” He makes tentacles of his fingers and a grimace of his face.
“Yeah man,” American Matt reassures him. “What sort of seafood place wouldn’t have regular fish and other stuff too?” Though, truth be told, he’s still wondering why Thắng had made a point about asking if they were okay with seafood in his Facebook messages. Twice.