"NEVER MIND!"
"...WHAT?!"
"I SAID, NEVER MIND!"
I petulantly drum my swizzle-stick and look around, bobbing my head to the pulsating beat. Everyone else at the table is sort of looking around too, sort of grooving along in their own way.
-This is so stupid- I think to myself, culturally-insensitively.
The cafe is enormous, and brightly lit as a hospital, the packed tables filled with people sipping their drinks, not talking, not dancing. Something about it feels embarrasing, like when a club finally turns the lights on, or being indoors in your bathing suit soaking wet.
Yeah yeah - dancing's not a big part of the culture, contact between men and women taboo, blah blah. I ask Van about it later during a brief musical interlude: what are you supposed to DO here? "Oh, you know, just sit, look around, enjoy the music, share each others' company" There's a pause. She notices my still-expectant face and sort of waves off to the other side of the room. "There's some prostitutes over there too..."
Whatever.
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