"We really have to visit the JK Rowling bookstore." My husband and I dislike JK Rowling's work; there is frigid, driving rain; there is a lengthy line outside the bookstore; you have to pay to get in. But FOMO is strange. You can observe that all the tourists look really, really miserable--but, still, you want to have the experience they're having, because otherwise you will MO. You. Will. Miss. Out. Marc and I walk to the Livraria Lello, the third greatest bookstore in the world. (Whatever that means.) A hostile, underpaid employee screams at us; the screams are in reference to a "ticketing kiosk." Behind us, visitors from Germany begin to toss insults at the store employee, and the screams get louder. My heart races. "Run!" I whisper to my husband. "Run to the kiosk!" But the scanning process is slow; your fingers slip as you attempt to type your billing info into an iPhone; rainwater makes the iPhone grumpy. The line grows; Saigon is ...