My aunt was five years old the first time she stood on a street corner in Vietnam, clutching a pack of cigarettes that wasn’t hers. She could barely see over the cart she was leaning against, but she knew her job: Sell enough cigarettes to bring something home for the family. Most children at that age live in a world of imagination. Her world was commerce, hunger, and endurance. She didn’t complain. She didn’t dream of fairness. She understood. She survived. There’s a demon that lives in all of us.