It's a merciful...

mid-afternoon in southern Vietnam as soft rains begin to fall, washing the streets smooth and shining-clean, yearning and sighing like hot rocks along the stream bed, quelled by the remembrance of the changing seasons. Cyclists dart in bright plastic ponchos to and fro, like fly-fishing lures above an all-too-still surface - evening rains mean twelve cool night hours in Saigon, which in turn means nothing but trouble...