A 72-year-old hawker is closing his stall because his sons would rather chase a six-figure salary than endure 14-hour shifts in a humid hellhole.

Singaporeans are currently performing their annual ritual of weeping over “lost heritage” while simultaneously threatening to disown any child who doesn’t get into law school.

The nation is in a state of shock that a business involving crumbling spines and third-degree oil burns has failed to attract any young talent.

“It’s such a tragedy,” said one local mother while beating her son for getting an A-minus in Additional Mathematics.

Public consensus suggests it is much better to let a 45-year-old recipe die than to risk a family member looking “low class” in front of the neighbors.

Soon, the only popiah left in Singapore will be a $32 “artisanal wrap” served by a depressed iPad.