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China Town
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General Store
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"Eezvenitye," she toddled up to the counter with her broken bag cradled to her chest, "mister Vang, could I get new bag," she pointed a long fingernail to her 'Shoppers Drug Mart' plastic, it was a pathetic thing in a pathetic shape. The Laotian man (who's wife was Chinese in truth) lowered his half moon spectacles and adjusted their strings that kept them in place.
"Ena," he said with a crinkly smile. There was no conversation, or exchange of sombre remembrance or anything that (to a deaf person) would tell they knew each other at all, but when their very different gazes locked, nothing made more sense.
She tried to make conversation as he bent over to search under the cash register.
"How's your son?" She called to the old lady who was fixing the Buddhas with OCD precision.
"Ah, he goes by the name Rodrigue now," Ms. Weng chuckled, "met a nice Italian girl."
Ena held back a giggle, when he'd first met her, he claimed his name was Miroslav and he came from southern Russia.
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