Four Americans walk in to a bar…

I am balancing on a pier, looking at a festive bar as it floats atop the Süng river. The blazing Sun has gone down, yet, the air is still blazing hot. Card speaks with his two friends, a couple pretty girls he works with who are totally disinterested in me, about what to do next. We had all just disembarked from an evening boat ride on the Süng – it was nice, cheap by the American dollar ($20 a head), and seemed some-what adventurous. At the very least, the DJ looped Michael Jackson's best all 5 hours and I met a lovely Vietnamese girl who had nothing to do with me afterwards.

Perhaps, I seem to emotionally harp on the sore subject of having no game in Vietnam? Yes.

Back to the pier, Card's friends, who before the boat ride were raving on about how they were so outlandish and fun-seeking, were now pitching fits about desiring to retire for the night. I was having none of it. From across the rocking pier, we could see the party at club 'Solace' was hitting puberty. Of course, there is a great deal of irony about the club's name. I should note, however, the play on words came to no surprise to Card or I. The Vietnamese absolutely love word-play; call them hipsters, if you like.

"I think we're gonna go," Card replies to my glare.
"That is bullshit. What the fuck, we're in Vietnam, dude!," I say.
"Yeah, and I don't wanna die in Vietnam!," Card responds, "You coming?"

I should add, Card is not being insensitive. I came to learn this type of conversation is more or less rote. The man is obviously adventuresome, for god's sake, we were standing off a Vietnamese party boat, next to a Vietnamese club, in Vietnam! Then again, sometimes my comrade needs a little cajoling to remember how to have fun.

"No," I say.
"Alright, let me see if I can get them to come along," Card says.
He left to win over the females. He returned in failure.
"Dude, we don't need them! They're lame!," I cry.
"I don't know, I'm kind of tired, went to work early...," I did not hear the rest as, I began tuning him out.

I decide to employ a more drastic measure to seal the deal and move our conversation in to the roaring club. I had false hopes that if Card saw the crowd for himself, perhaps his soul would emerge. I am now aware that Card hates crowds!
Inside Solace, on its utmost periphery, Card and I were immediately assaulted by the most deafening sounds. I am still baffled at the shear number of people crammed in to that little bar. Lo, the Vietnamese love Lady Ga-Ga. They love mixing the good lady with manic electronic drums. They love Heinekin, and that is the only beer currently being sold at Solace.
I am sure Card and I looked terrified, wearing whiter, bleaker faces than any of these Asians had seen. Card leaves. Before he does, though, he asks,
"Are you sure you can find your way out of here?" He looks truly concerned.
"Oh yeah, I came to kick ass, and kick ass I shall," I lie.

Now I am alone in what turns out to be a very gay bar, illegally providing business after curfew. Did I mention, Solace is owned by the mob?