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54 | Bacchanalia - Rainbow
THE sound of the music then slowly became silent. The hustle and bustle of the humans on the dance floor began to calm down. The visitors who throng the Bacchanalia distract themselves by drinking again.
It was already midnight. Maybe it was the time for the Bacchanalia staff to rest. Usually, after the host DJ performance - at zero hours - it would be changed to a guest DJ. But, I did not know who the guest DJ would be.
However, the absence of music had not made the atmosphere filled with adult men and women wither. It was like the atmosphere of an annual festival. Even though the long-awaited one had not yet appeared, the visitors were still waiting faithfully.
I then got rid of my previous worry - a strange feeling amidst the excitement of a nightclub. Unlike usual, someone was watching me from somewhere. But I d not know for sure.
"Here, drink again!" asked Kacey, then gave me a glass.
Since there was no music playing, we did not have to shout
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I leaned my back against the back of the sofa chair in the VIP room. My brain was still digesting the long story from Uncle Brody. I thought he just talked about himself. Apparently, the story was related to my family, the Tanoto family.My guess was correct that the Chinese man was my grandfather Bradley Tanoto. But I did not think that my grandmother was a former jugun ianfu. As I remember, she never sang. But she was a very patient and compassionate Javanese woman. No wonder that when she was young, many men fell in love with her."We share the same one woman, Son," said Uncle Brody, "My mother, Mary Sue, is your grandmother. I am your mother's eldest stepbrother. And you are my nephew. That's why I called us family."I just kept quiet hearing Uncle Brody's clear explanation. But I still wonder about the house that was the primary location in this series of events.Based on Uncle Brody's story, there was a fig tree in the middle of the brothel. I thoug
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I looked at the digital clock on my motorbike dashboard, which read 03.03 A.M. On this Caldwell Pigeon Street, the pulse of the metropolitan city began to rustle. Old motorbikes were milling while transporting various kinds of goods such as groceries, clothes, and chickens in their passenger seats.Meanwhile, on the sidewalk at the side of the road, several old women were seen laughing in the mat stalls filled with piles of jasmine flowers. Not far from them, there was a traditional market Caldwell Pigeon.I glanced at Kacey again. She was lean her body and head on my back and occasionally looked to the left side. From the dim city lights that reflect through the rearview mirror, Kacey looked cute. Even though the wind was blowing naturally, I could see that her face was flushed with sweat-covered part of her oval face.I loosened the gas lever, turned the steering to the left until my motorbike slid slowly on the left lane, getting ready to enter the hotel.
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