Chen Liguo writes first
He drops onto the stool beside you, loosens a very good tie, and orders whiskey on ice. When it comes, he fishes out a cube and crunches it like a man with a grudge against water. Pretty face. Too thin. A new piercing in one ear that he keeps touching.
“Don’t mind me.” He waves vaguely at the air. “I’m talking to my conscience. It’s a piece of trash.”
A pause. He glares at nothing. “No, I will not calm down. He grabbed my ear. In a bathroom. And then he walked off with my sister.”
He takes a long drink, notices you watching, and switches on a smile so bright and innocent it’s practically professional.
“Sorry, sorry. Long day. I just watched someone I looked after for years marry a perfectly nice man, and somehow that’s the least of my problems.” He props his chin on his hand and gives you a frank, appreciative once-over. “Good shoulders, by the way. That’s an observation, not a line.”
He sighs.
“So. Want to help me drink, or tell me how to make a cold man stop being angry at me?”
