These days we have a special client. A group of men and women, around my age, who the president used to call "true Ngī̀ ngèā"
"They are real idiots."
"What?"
"I mean this".
The president implicitly made the shape of a coin with his thumb and forefinger, and even added a joke so that he would treat it with the utmost care.
It may have been half-hearted, but I only responded with a satisfied smile.
No wonder he didn't come to this store to look fake rich.
Situated in the basement of a relatively quiet alleyway, a bit removed from the overpriced downtown area, the bar was maintained by the noble eyes and wide net of the chairman, Ping Orbnithi.
Most of the visitors were the ones spending money, and P'Ping was the guy in the first place.
P'Ping, the youngest son of a family that lives short, said that he spent his days as a free spirit and created a job because he had nothing else to do.
Although he said it in a boring way, the store clearly showed that he worked hard.
Given that it has interiors that smell of money, extremely experienced bartenders, and hard-to-find alcohol, it was worth knowing how enthusiastic P'Ping is about this business.
As a result, the bar quickly became famous through word of mouth from his wealthy acquaintances.
That was the case for them, whom P'Ping calls special guests.
It must have been the first time that a clean-looking man with glasses came to the place with an acquaintance of him.
As many people have done up to now, since then he has often stopped by with friends to see if he liked the store.
Even though it was a special guest, it was a group that didn't catch his attention from an employee's perspective.
He didn't always order alcohol expensive enough to make his eyes roll, or show his veins splashing his saliva.
He just spoke softly and walked out of the store like any customer my age.
It was because of someone else's name that they became the guests I was worried about.
"So did Alan Hemmawich come to Thailand or not?"
It was an irritating comment from a woman who looked especially good in bright red lipstick.
I almost missed the glass I was putting down for the familiar name that arrived unannounced.
The man with the glasses looked at my hand and answered the woman, wondering if the rattling bothered her.
"Is here".
"Why have not you called me?"
The woman asked again with a sense of triumph.
"He must be busy."
The man answered briefly again.
That was the whole conversation about Alan Hemmawich.
The topic quickly changed to another topic. I was the only one who thought of the name over and over again.
It is a common name.
Even if he tried to persuade me like that, my mind that started to stir once wasn't easily calmed down.
"Real bastards, how amazing are they?"
From 20 to 30 years maximum. Most of the guests of that age who entered and left this place were children of their own families.
Among them, Benz, the youngest, seemed to be curious because he was said to be the son of a particularly wealthy family.
He was also listening to the unorthodox question, which he would have ignored and passed over if it was usual. P'Ping hesitated a bit.
"Is he a rich man's son or something?"
"Oh, that's it."
When Benz asked again as if urging him, P'Ping was positive.
Alan Hemmawich, whom I know, was also like that. What is the probability that there are two real embryos named Alan Hemmawich my age?
I tried to turn a deaf ear to the obvious conclusion. But I couldn't help but feel restless every day the special guests came.
Today was the same day. The sky was gloomy all day, and finally it rained from the afternoon, and the special guests arrived late and sat down occupying a large table.
The familiar name seemed to have been heard through the music playing in my ears.
It was a chaotic day. I made several mistakes because I felt like I couldn't calm down.
"Jeff Thanapon, what's wrong with you today? What's wrong?"
"I'm not sorry."
"Okay, go out there and clean the floor. It's muddy again."
Instead of scolding, P'Ping, who is a nice person, handed me a mop bag.
It was much better than hanging around the tables.
I would have cleaned it many times by now but from the front of the door to the stairs leading outside it was a mess with wet footprints.
That's why I hate rainy days. A day when I have a lot of work to do and many thoughts.
I began to clear the empty floor of my mind. At best, when I finished cleaning the stairs, a new client appeared at a good time.
The man at the entrance rattled his umbrella several times. I thought about cleaning the client's prints and going in, so I stayed put.
The man coming down the stairs was unusually tall. No, it was still big. His face still looked cold when he closed his mouth.
I couldn't take my eyes off the man coming down the stairs as if possessed.
The fingertips from shaking the raindrops on his shoulder were the same as the memories, so I inadvertently laughed.
The gaze of the man who was walking with an indifferent gaze was directed at me.
Only then did I realize.
I had finally seen Alan Hemmawich again.
Alanstood up and looked at me.
I imagined this situation several times.
What would Alan say to me if he meets me again?
He won't be happy to see me.
Should I be angry?
No, he may have forgotten or he may not recognize me.
Alan asked me with a glare.
"Do you know me?"
Even the rude way of speaking remains the same.
Whether Alan recognized me or not, I had practiced a response to him several times.
"...No".
I don't know you.
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Condition Of My Heart.....
FanfictionA long time ago, Jeff was struggling to pay his mother's hospital bills when a man came to him. The man, who identified himself as the vice president of the Hemmawich Group, said he was looking for his father's benefactor. The man was looking for t...
