Observations From a Train in Vietnam

Is that a foot? I think to myself.

I’m not a trained podiatrist or anything, but it did look like a foot.

It poked out from underneath the bench opposite me. Long toenails threatened to cut a nearby backpack open if they came in contact with it.

I nudged my girlfriend, Kaitlyn, and my friend Donovan and pointed to the floor at the rogue body part.

They both grimaced. The corners of their lips furled, their noses lifted, and their eyes squinted in disgust.

“Is that a f—ckin’ foot?” Donovan asked.