“What are you reading ?”, she crept over his easy-chair, letting her hair down. Her hair, he felt, was disgusting. True – it looked a gorgeous brown as it sieved the sunlight, but he knew the only reason why she cuddled up to him was to tickle his nose with her tresses. He hated it. And she knew it that he hated it. “Can you make us some coffee, please ?”, he said stretching his neck back and feigning ignorance. He knew she loved her Kenyan coffee at dawn. They knew each other too much. She smiled and walked away but not before he could feel a gentle bump of her feet on his derriere which was hereunto resting uber-comfortably on the trough of the easy-chair cloth. And that’s how another beautiful, lazy Sunday morning broke over Vietnam.