Chapter 1133

Su Ming can't tell how long he hasn't walked into such a small, dark bar. In this place like a village in the city, the slogan of "love and peace" is pasted everywhere in the street. The blood color font under the dim street lamp is very clear, just like the music outside the door of every bar.

In the Vietnam War, the United States sent 550000 people. In this world where anything could happen, the casualties were far greater than what Su Ming knew in his previous life.

Since the beginning of the war, such a group of strange young people have appeared in China.

They criticized the government's restrictions on the rights and interests of citizens. They hated the greed of big companies, lamented the narrow traditional morality and opposed the inhuman nature of war.

But there's nothing they can do about it.

They can only shout in their peace movements and processions; they can only carry flowers in their hair or distribute flowers to pedestrians, "plant flowers in the barrel of guns"; they can only express their dissatisfaction with wandering rock music and sad music.

Most sociologists call them "Bohemians" more rigorously. They are like gypsies who have no fixed place and yearn for a free life.

But ordinary people, including Su Ming, use a more common name for them, hippie.

On the whole, if they don't drink too much regularly or "Ha Cao" is too Hi, these people can be said to be a very interesting group of people, because they promoted the birth of rock music.

Today's suming, dressed in fashionable flared trousers and a high-collar T-shirt, turned the strangulation into a popular beetle hairstyle, leaning against a corner of the bar drinking whiskey and watching the band perform on a small stage.

The bar is not big, the stage lighting is dazzling, and the poor sound effect makes customers feel as if they are hit by a sledgehammer on their heads.

The young woman yelled out some words about pain at home. The band behind her was far worse than that of the Beatles. Her songs, in Su Ming's eyes, might be regarded as a kind of agricultural metal.

But hippies don't care. In bars full of the smell of leaves, they enthusiastically support everyone on the stage.

It's not human. As long as it's a creature that can make sounds, all kinds of different pharmaceutical ingredients make their pupils deform. Seeing anything on the stage is just colorful light and shadow.

Seeing these young men and women begin to take off their clothes crazily, and their white flesh is like a swarm of insects huddling in the dance floor, Su Ming shakes her head and says to the bartender who is also helplessly wiping his glass: "who is singing?"

At the same time, a $10 note slips across the bar.

The bartender picked up the tip and drew the direction of the stage with his chin: "she? The lead singer of the bereaved band, whose stage name is wave machine gun, is full of posters of these bands. To be honest, I don't understand the names and music of you young people. I've been a bartender for 40 years. The bar should be a place for jazz. Piano, saxophone, you know that. "

"It looks like you don't like hippies." Su Ming pushes the empty cup to fill it up.

"Yes, they do nothing, beat generation. It's not good for our country to revel at night and sleep all day with the men and women we know the night before. " The bartender took out a bottle from the back of the bar and poured the wine skillfully to the guests: "but I don't have a grudge against money. Many of these hippies are rich and rich."

"You are sober. If you can't even eat, they won't pursue any freedom of thought." Su Ming Dynasty bartender held up his glass and looked at his skin color through the glass: "but I really didn't expect a bartender to have such an understanding."

The bartender laughed and continued to pick up the white towel: "the state is the guarantee of the existence of the rice bowl. I go out to work at night and endure the noise to eat. Even if Martin Luther King is assassinated, we black people have to continue to live."

"That's right. Oh, she's gone. Where should I meet her? I don't want to squeeze through this bunch of meat worms. They will squeeze my clothes out Su Ming finished his drink and pressed a dollar under the glass.

The black bartender magically put away the money, grinned and cocked his head in response to the joke: "take the staff passage behind me. The backstage is actually the basement. Have a good time tonight."

"I will."

Su Ming turns around and walks off the bar stool. Instead of going to see the new band on the stage, Su Ming turns over the bar and goes straight behind the bartender.

In the basement with mottled walls, there is no partition wall at all. The band that has finished the performance is packing up its own things. The band that has not yet appeared on the stage is busy rehearsing in a low voice. People walk between the boiler of the bar and the large wine storage barrels.

It's a mess.

The bereaved band, who had just stepped down, broke out a quarrel before returning to the basement.

The drummer accused the bassist of being out of tune, while bass pointed to the drummer for not having any sense of rhythm. When they started to fight, the keyboard player had already packed up his things and left the line, leaving the "wave machine gun" sitting on a barrel with his head covered and his guitar in a dejected manner.

she has short blonde hair, which is very conspicuous in this era of popular Bohemia style, not to mention thick eye shadow and lipstick.Unfortunately, she played with heavy metals, and the audience didn't care.

Entering the backstage, Su Ming found that someone had taken the lead. It was another woman in a black leather windbreaker. She was very beautiful. She had long black hair and a horsetail, which made her look very capable.

She had obviously been waiting in the basement for the bereaved band, and the target was the girl who was the lead singer.

"Amanda strong?" The woman in leather came up to the lead singer with a gentle smile on her face.

"Yes." The woman with short hair raised her head without love.

"Good singing." The leather lady pulled down her collar and wore a red corset under her tights: "it was a wonderful show."

Amanda shook her head. She didn't care about her team-mates. "I broke two chords tonight, and that microphone, when I speak, always makes farting noises, faker."

"Everyone's happy. Don't get tangled in the details." The leather clad woman patted Amanda on the shoulder and said, "is strong your real name?"

"Short for Armstrong, thank you for your encouragement. I mean... At least one other person likes my music." She squeezed out a wry smile, rock and roll is an attitude, and there is only one person in the audience who cares. It's sad.

"You're welcome. Let's go. Your teammates look hopeless. I'll treat you to a drink."

The woman in leather is obviously older than Amanda. She is full of mature woman's charm, and her smile is full of tenderness and charm.

She looked around, as if not satisfied with the environment, but she did not see the death knell hidden behind the boiler, eavesdropping on their conversation.

Amanda shook her head, stood up and put her guitar on her shoulder. "No, thank you for your kindness, but now I just want to go home and explode my guitar, and then I can't wake up with a pound of leaves."

The woman in leather put her arm around her shoulder with a smile and said, "x your own guitar? You should use this as the finale on the stage

"Er... Almost, that, you are really attractive, and the girls are also very good, but..." Amanda tried to break free from the arms of the leather clad woman without any trace. She felt uncomfortable when she was pushed against by her elastic body.

"Thank you, but I'm not trying to hook you up." The leather clad woman walked out with a smile and hugged her. She passed the boiler: "I'll treat you to dinner. I can give you a record contract."

When she heard the record, Amanda didn't struggle, but she still had some defensive Psychology: "are you from the record company?"

"No The woman in leather is slim but powerful. She pushes aside all the people in the way with one hand.

"So you're the agent?" Amanda asked again.

"No, it's not a broker." "But I have a record contract. Do you want to come?"

"... let's go."

Thirty seconds later, across from the bar, in Wilson's fast food restaurant, which is open 24 hours a day.

The woman in leather ordered hamburgers, fried chicken, French fries, strong drinks and so on. She was very generous to invite Amanda to have supper. She also raised the hamburger and took a big bite, chewing like a hamster.

"So you write your own songs?"

Instead of eating, Amanda shrank in the corner of the seat, blocking her guitar in front of her and looking at each other warily.

"Who are you first? I don't know your name yet

If it wasn't for a brightly lit public place, she would never have followed a woman in leather.

Fast food restaurants always look the same. The air is full of instant coffee and hamburger meat. The lights are warm. The bright yellow tables and chairs are clean. The posters on the walls show the captain of the United States holding various kinds of food to compare the photos of his thumb.

Well, when Wilson's fast food consumption reaches a certain amount, he also sends the captain of the United States. Just now, the waiter brought a German moustache.

Amanda already has this one. She wants to ride one more, but it has to come to dinner by herself rather than with the mysterious man in black.

The brunette shrugged, put down the hamburger she had bitten, thought for a second, and then gave an answer.

"I'm Valentina ellengela Di Fontaine, and I'm from strategic risk intervention and intelligence logistics, and, to put it simply, I'm a national agent."

Amanda's guitar hand tightened as she looked into Valentina's face with distrust: "can I see your ID?"

Valentine's face was full of smiles, but her momentum suddenly cooled the environment: "no, we are super agents, we don't go anywhere with small pieces of paper to prove our identity."

"What does this have to do with me?" Amanda frowned, and she began to rub outside the seat, as if trying to escape.

"Your father used to be my colleague, in a sense." The female agent allows her to move, but just lowers her head and continues to drink drinks to cover her mouth.Amanda likes her father very much, otherwise the name of the band would not be "dead father Dave". At this time, when her father was mentioned by strangers, she felt very uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?"

Valentina picked up the hamburger, and wiped the tomato sauce with the little finger of his black nail polish. "I joined the logistics department later. He sacrificed time earlier than I joined. Dave Armstrong, he is a good man. I heard that even the devil's knell has added to his green eyes."

"I thought he was a policeman and died in a firefight with a drug dealer..." Amanda inhaled deeply. She was still young at that time, but she always remembered her father's affairs clearly. It was a man with a big palm and always smiling.

Whenever he put his hand on her head, she would squint her eyes as comfortably as a kitten.

The female agent shook her head, and she sighed: "no, he died of a hydra attack. Do you know Hydra?"? Should the captain of the United States know? "

"I know, but I really should go." Amanda took her guitar and walked out of the box: "father meant everything to me, and now you tell me he's been lying to me? It's over with us. "

Seeing that she was going to leave, Valentina pulled a pile of paper from her underwear and slapped it on the table: "ten records, global tour, Wilson entertainment contract, tut, that's a big enterprise with a lot of resources in Hollywood. Do you like movies?"

Amanda settled like a robot, slowly sat back to her original position, picked up the stack of paper and looked at it carefully.

It seems to be true, even the other party's name has been signed, waiting for her to sign.

Since it was the painstaking efforts of my father's colleagues before his death... I'll accept it.

For a moment, only the sound of Valentina's eating and drinking, and the rustling sound of paper turning in their seats, and the harsh tunes and crazy screams from the bar across the road from time to time.

They didn't notice that a young man with a Beatle haircut was listening to them from the next seat back to back.

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