From street vendors and motorbike taxi drivers to scrap collectors and construction workers, the midday break is more survival than luxury.

“We only sleep with one eye,” one man said with a wry smile.

At a quiet corner of a park in Binh Tan District, 67-year-old Nguyen Thi Phuong lies down beside her bamboo yoke.

She has just dozed off when her basic mobile phone blares to life.

On the other end, her husband in the countryside shares troubling news: their elderly father has fallen ill and needs money for treatment.

Her nap ends before it truly begins.

Rubbing her eyes, she props herself up to talk.

Her words are soft, strained with worry.

Her modest wares—from toasted rice cracker to spicy mixed rice paper and candy—sell for just VND5,000-10,000 (US$0.2–0.4) apiece.

On a lucky day, she earns VND200,000-300,000 ($7.6–11.5), but even that does not stretch far in this city, which borders her native Binh Dinh Province.

“On a good month, I can send VND3–4 million [$114–153] home,” she said.

“I already sent some this month, but now they need more, and I don’t know how I’ll manage.”

She suddenly remembers the VND1 million ($38) she has been saving for rent.

“I’ll use that for his medicine. I’ll try to sell more to make up the rent later,” she said, slowly rising and hoisting her shoulder pole once more.

Phuong only knows how to ride a bicycle. But, when coming from the countryside to the city, she does not dare to ride it, so she still walks with her shoulder pole.

Years of spinal degeneration makes the load heavier each day.

“Usually, I nap 30–40 minutes to relieve the back pain. But today, after that call, I can’t sleep,” she murmured.

Nearby, beneath rows of trees offering brief relief from the sun, others seize short spells of rest.

Hammocks swing. Some lie on concrete benches.

Others collapse against their motorcycles, limbs draped in uncomfortable positions.

A delivery worker sits next to his parked bike, head resting against the seat.

Construction laborers, dusty and exhausted, stretch out on sidewalks without even a mat.

The snores of deep fatigue echo among the rustling leaves.

“We’re still young, but if we don’t rest a bit, we can’t handle riding over 10 hours a day,” said T.H.P., 25, a motorbike taxi driver, as he scrolled on his phone.

He declined to share his full name, not wanting family back in Nghe An Province to see him this way.

He sleeped on his bike to keep it close—it is his livelihood.

“When I started, I couldn’t sleep like this. It felt awkward. Some guys even fell and hit their heads,” he laughed.

“But you get used to it. It might even be good for blood flow—legs up, head down, right?”

Unlike vendors who return to familiar rest spots, motorbike taxi drivers nap wherever their last ride leaves them.

If lucky, they find a shaded patch near a park.

Other times, they settle for narrow alleys or sun-beaten sidewalks.

“Anywhere’s fine, as long as it’s safe and I can nod off,” said Le Van Phong, a driver of nearly 20 years.

“If we’re in a group, we sleep better.

“Alone, we ‘sleep with one eye’—watching for thieves or just keeping an ear out for trouble.”

Under a tall tree in District 4, 71-year-old Hoang Huu Minh woke after a 30-minute seated nap.

He leaned against the trunk, careful to choose one without ants.

“It feels like the tree gives you energy,” he said, chuckling.

Originally from Vinh Phuc Province, northern Vietnam, Minh now scrapes by collecting recyclable waste in the city.

“Sometimes I wake up and find my bag filled with cans,” he recalled.

“People walking by must’ve seen me and dropped them in.”

Once, he even found a banh mi (Vietnamese bread) and a box of com tam (broken rice served with grilled pork) next to him—gifts left by kind strangers while he slept.

In this city where every minute can mean a few more pennies, these stolen naps are vital.

They are not restful, and they are never guaranteed—but for those who live by the hour, they are a lifeline.