Dragon House by John Shors

kept rats at bay. It contained a blanket and two extra sets of clothes. On most nights, a dozen or so people slept beneath the bridge. Each had her or his own bed—fashioned from boxes, from old scooter seats, from carefully sculpted sand and mud.
    Mai stirred beside him and Minh carefully sat up, raising his head above the rim of the basket. Not far away, a legless veteran of the American War was tying a wooden block to the stumps below his waist. Upon this block, as well as on smaller blocks that he attached to his palms, he’d propel himself along the city sidewalks. The blocks protected him from glass and other debris.
    Several children had risen and were bathing in the river. Minh knew them all, knew them to be discarded in some form or another. Thi, whose name meant “poem” and whose body had been poisoned by lingering chemicals from the war, had oversize eyes that looked as if they’d burst from her head. Phuong had run away from the orphanage that had housed him for three years. And Van, who’d been born in a back alley, had known nothing but the streets.
    Minh watched the other children for a few minutes, then lay back down in the basket. He reached beneath a piece of carpet and carefully felt the section of bamboo that he’d loosened months earlier. Under this false bottom, under rocks and the silt of distant lands, was a plastic bag containing fourteen dollars. The money was the result of a year’s worth of secrecy, of deceptions that could cost him his life. Only Mai and he knew of the stash. Were Loc to find it, he’d beat the flesh from their bones. One day, so went their dream, the two friends would save enough money to flee Loc, to travel to a place where they could go to school and not fear the night.
    “You didn’t sleep well, did you, Minh the Restless?” Mai asked softly, her eyes still closed.
    Minh watched dust drift down from the bridge above as a heavy truck strained the pitted concrete. He wondered who’d be under the bridge when it fell someday.
    “You’re like a boiling pot of pho ,” she added, rising to survey the morning. “Never resting. Never sitting still for a minute. Are you like the pho , afraid that you’re going to be eaten?”
    Minh smiled, never having been compared to a pot of noodles. He wiggled his head back and forth, pretending that he was being boiled.
    She giggled. “Maybe I’ll toss some onions and sprouts on you tonight while you’re sleeping. I’ll prepare you just right, and slurp you up.”
    Happy that her face carried a smile, Minh pointed to their game of Connect Four.
    “You think it’s time to go play?” Mai asked. “Ah, I’m so tired of selling fans. Why don’t I play? You sell fans and find foreigners for me to play against. I’ll just sit and drop checkers. And I’ll be Mai the Magnificent.”
    Minh shook his head and rose to his feet. The other children had finished bathing in the river, and he wanted to clean himself before the adults entered the water. Mai followed his lead and the two friends carried their extra set of clothes to the water’s edge. After carefully setting the clothes aside, they strode into the river. The water, as brown as dirt, gently tugged at their ankles, then legs, then waists. They stripped to their underwear and began to clean their shirts and shorts, wringing the pollution and grit from them. Over the past few months, they’d seen dead snakes, cats, and even a water buffalo float past. But since the rainy season had ended, the river tended to steal much less life.
    “We should find a mosquito net,” Mai said, scratching at her neck.
    Minh shrugged, knowing that if they ever found such a sought-after net it would be promptly stolen. Better just to sleep under their blankets than to worry about mosquito nets. Still, he wished that Mai didn’t attract so many flying pests. Maybe he’d try to find her a net after all.
    “What should we get today with our dollar?” Mai asked, for one crisp dollar bill was