Hustle

It is late

The proportion of closed shutters to open, populated bars and cafes shifts steadily.

I’m on a quick stroll around the block, in search of a shop with hat dieu (cashews). Late night munchies have hit.

Walking street is closing down

But the hustle is ramping up.

Where do you go?

I can take you anywhere.

The cyclo driver eases alongside as I stroll, his manner affable and his smile up front.

I’m okay, thank you.

What do you need

Massage?

No, thank you, I’m good.

Marijuana?

No, still good.

I smile and keep walking, and eventually this barker knows he’s up the wrong tree.

But a solitary foreigner walking around at midnight is a pretty clear mark. And in the 70 meters between the intersection and the snack shop up ahead, I’m approached by two more hustlers. The first on foot, second on a motorbike.

They are no strangers to this work, their office hours late into the night, intentions somewhat questionable. But hey, it’s a living.

I take you anywhere

I wave him off with another smile.

How about this?

He pulls a small layer of plastic out of his pocket and shows me his bud, dried and ready.

No, thank you. I’m good.

I have whatever you need.

This gives me pause.

Oh, is that so?

You have a pack of cashews, a toothbrush, and a good night’s sleep?

He snorts, gives me a wry smile, and slowly rolls away.

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