The landlord came by yesterday with papers. He wants to triple the rent starting next year — says the block is "gentrifying," which is a word that tastes like ash in my mouth. My grandmother was making phở here when his father was still a farmer outside the city. Now he owns the building because his family had money to buy when the government was still deciding who gets to own what. I told him I need to talk to my accountant, but we both know what that means. My son asked me last night if we might have to close, and I couldn't lie to him, so I just didn't answer. I've been getting up at four o'clock for forty years to make this broth, and I'm not ready to stop, but I'm also not ready to tell my grandmother that her kitchen might become a coffee shop for people with laptops.