On a traffic road where hundreds of motorcycles and cars were moving, suddenly the roar of an engine, like thunder exploding, echoed across the entire area.
An old-model Wave bike, modified with a custom exhaust and a makeover to look better and cooler, was flying down the main road.
It ran through a red light and hundreds of pedestrians as if defying the law.
The person riding it was not wearing a helmet, letting his dyed white hair whip in the wind.
Cigarette vapor from an e-cigarette was still drifting from his mouth, and behind him was a traffic police car chasing after him.
This was Cầu Giấy District, Hanoi, Vietnam, a place that preserved the essence of the Vietnamese people for thousands of years, only to be soiled by the stupidity known as the "city boy."
In Vietnam, people actually call them "Boy Phố," a term full of irony, mocking those who wear fake branded clothes bought at ridiculously cheap prices, those who proudly call themselves more civilized and modern than the countryside crowd by using drugs, street racing, and throwing punches whenever they disagree.
Their traits are dressing like they are fashionable while looking incredibly stupid, most of them skinny because they think that is what attracts girls, obsessed with showing off, and living in delusion.
They often gather in packs, and while the whole world is personalizing life, they share one brain like a bunch of monkeys.
Nguyễn Quang Quân, the one riding the motorbike, was one of those people, a full-fledged wannabe.
He was only 18, but he had dropped out of school, wandered around with some older guys, gambled, and now he was running from debt in the middle of the night.
He did not feel guilty when he saw his mother having to donate blood and sell the house back in the countryside to pay off his debts. He was guilty when he saw the older guy he followed, two years his senior, get arrested for extortion.
In the cold winter wind of Hanoi, that madman was racing through thick traffic, muttering curses nonstop and sending "love" to the loan sharks.
He had just borrowed some money to organize his mother's funeral, but in no time at all the interest rate had shot up to 100% in just 50 days.
Truly insane.
And what was even more insane was that he wasn't wearing a helmet while riding.
Well, the best possible ending for an ungrateful bastard who sold the house and raced at 130 km/h was getting hit by a truck.
And of course, there was no miracle to save him.
Or was there?