The poor man watched as the crates of flowers were brought into the fancy new shop. The people of Ha Noi walked past his own humble flower sales set-up—the only source of income to the poor man’s family. He dreaded what this new competition would mean for his family’s financial state. The people would sometimes glance over in pity as if they wished to help him but didn’t have the means to—it was rare that anyone did during the war time.

The American and South Vietnamese troops had destroyed nearby rice and bamboo farm towns earlier this month, it was only a matter of time before they attacked Ha Noi. 

The poor man noticed the night market lights flickering and started to pack his stuff and head home for the day.

The wife was weeding their roof garden attentively when she heard him come up the stairs. “The kids are asleep. How was business?” she asked. “It was great! I sold a lot of flowers today,” he replied—a little white lie couldn’t hurt if it made his wife happy right? “That is good to hear, we must give our thanks to Than Tai if we hope to gain any more fortune.” So fortune is what the poor man prayed for as he knelt before the family’s small, cheap altar to the god of wealth. He prayed for a miracle, for anything that would bring his family out of their despairing poverty. It seemed no matter how hard he worked, the government would take anything he earned and put it toward a war he just wanted to end.

The next day the poor man left the house before everyone else was awake so as to start selling before the new shop could open. As the day passed, he realized no one wanted to buy his ordinary flowers when the floral shop sold exotic bouquets imported from other countries. He ate nothing that day to save money for the family and stayed out later than normal, but alas, he could sell nothing. He went home wearily, once again acting to his family as if the day had proved profitable.