I found myself chaperoning Dong on his first date. He must have been about fourteen; I was twenty-five. We went to the only Western cinema in town, located in a glamorous air-conditioned shopping centre selling expensive brand names to those carrying wallets full of corrupted money. We waited outside for Dong’s date to arrive. She didn’t. Tensions rose. While waiting, Dong took the opportunity to hit me up for the cost of her taxi ride and, having never been a chaperone before, I presumed that paying fell into the remit, so I agreed. Dong had probably never been happier. And she hadn’t even arrived yet.

Unable to hide his anticipation behind the aura of cool one might usually aim to exude on a date, with his body getting bouncier and more impatient as time passed, Dong threw his arms into the air and ran the entire length of the shopping centre block. In Hanoi‘s summer humidity he ran, pushing past the glamourpusses and their cashed–up men carrying bags of high heels. One lap didn’t satiate him. He smiled at me as he passed and went around again.