Chapter 1131: © Greenwich Village

Su Ming can't say how long he hasn't walked into such a small, dim bar. In this place like a village in the city, the slogans of'love and peace' are posted everywhere on the street, and the blood under the dim street lamp The font is very clear, like the music coming out of every bar.
In the Vietnam War, the United States sent 550,000 people. In this world where anything can happen, the casualties are far greater than what Su Ming knew in his previous life.
Since the beginning of the war, such a group of weird young people have appeared in China.
They criticized the government's restrictions on citizens' rights, they hated the greed of big companies, lamented the narrowness of traditional morality, and opposed the inhumanity of war.
But they can do nothing.
They can only give out their shouts in their peaceful movements and parades; they can only bring flowers in their hair or divide flowers to pedestrians, "put flowers in the barrel"; they can only use stray rock music, sad music Express their dissatisfaction.
Ordinary sociologists call them ‘Bohemians’ more rigorously. They live in no fixed place like Gypsies and yearn for a free life.
But ordinary people, including Su Ming, use the more common name for them, hippies.
Generally speaking, if they don’t drink too much regularly or ‘hacao’ is too hilarious, these people can be said to be a very interesting group of people because they promoted the birth of rock music.
Today's Su Ming wears fashionable flared pants and a high-necked T-shirt, making the strangulation transformed into the popular beetle hairstyle. He leaned on the corner of the bar and drank whiskey while watching the band's performance on the small stage.
The bar is not big, the stage lighting is dazzling, and the poor acoustics make customers feel as if they are being hit by a sledgehammer on their heads.
The young female host shouted some lyrics about the pain hoarsely. The level of the band behind her was far worse than the Beatles. In Su Ming's eyes, her songs were probably a kind of agricultural metal.
But the hippies don't care. In the bar full of the smell of ‘leaves’, they enthusiastically support everyone on stage.
It's not a human being, as long as it is a creature that can make noises, anyway, a variety of different medicine ingredients deform their pupils, and everything on the stage is just a colorful light and shadow.
Seeing these young men and women start to undress frantically, and their miserable flesh and skin squeezed like bugs on the dance floor, Su Ming shook his head and spoke to the bartender who was also wiping the cup helplessly:
"Who is singing?"
While questioning, a ten-dollar bill slid across the bar.
The bartender took the tip and gestured with his chin to the stage direction: "She? The lead singer of the mourning father's band, whose stage name is "Science Machine Gun". There are posters of these bands everywhere on the street. To be honest, I have the names and music of you young people. Don’t get it, I’ve been a bartender for 40 years. The bar should be a place for jazz music, piano, saxophone, you know.

"It looks like you don't like hippies." Su Ming pushed the empty cup and motioned for him to fill it up.
"Yes, they don't do anything, the Beat generation. They party everywhere at night, and during the day they sleep with the men and women they knew the night before. This is not good for our country." The bartender took it from behind the bar. Put out a wine bottle and pour wine skillfully for the guests: "But I have no grudges with Qian. Many of these hippies are rich and rich."
"You are so sober. If you can't even eat food, they won't come to pursue any freedom of thought." Su Ming raised the glass and looked at his skin color through the glass: "But I really didn't expect a bartender to have this understanding."
The bartender smiled and continued to pick up the white towel: "The country is the guarantee of the existence of the job. I go to work at night and endure the noise to eat. Even if Martin Luther King is assassinated, we black people must continue to live."
"That's right, oh, she's off, where should I go to meet her? I don't want to squeeze through this pile of meat and insects, they will squeeze my clothes out." Su Ming finished his cup. Wine, another dollar was pressed under the glass.
The black bartender put away the banknotes like magic, smiling and tilting his head in response to the joke: "Walk through the staff passage behind me. The backstage is actually the basement. I wish you a good night."
"I will."
Su Ming turned and walked off the bar stool. Instead of seeing the new band on stage, he turned over the bar and walked directly behind the bartender.
In the basement with mottled walls, there are no partition walls at all. The bands that have finished their performance pack their things, and the bands that have not yet gone on stage are rehearsing quietly. People walk through the boilers in the bar and the stacked wine barrels. .
a mess.
The bereavement band, which had just stepped down, broke out before returning to the basement.
The drummer blamed the bassist for running out of tune, while the bassist blamed the drummer for not having any sense of rhythm, and when they started to fight, the keyboardist had already packed his things and retired, and only the "wave machine gun" was left holding his head. Sitting dejectedly on a wooden barrel, holding his guitar.
She has short blond hair, which is very conspicuous in this era of popular bohemian style, not to mention the heavy eye shadow and lipstick, which are all dresses beyond the times.
Unfortunately, she played heavy metal, 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 trench coat. She was very beautiful, with long black hair in a ponytail, and she looked very capable.
She obviously has been waiting for the bereavement band in the basement, and the target is the lead singer girl.
"Amanda Strong?" The leather-clothed woman walked up to the lead singer with a gentle smile on her face.
"Yes." The short-haired woman raised her head with a look of lovelessness.
"Sing well." The woman in leather jacket pulled her neckline down, and underneath the tight leather jacket she wore a red corset: "It's a wonderful performance."
Amanda shook her head. She didn't bother to care about her teammates in a group: "I broke two chords tonight, and the microphone always makes fart-like noises when I speak, Fuck."
"Everyone is very happy, don't entangle those details." The woman in leather patted Amanda's shoulder comfortingly: "Is Strong your real name?"
"Armstrong's abbreviation, thank you for your encouragement, I mean... at least one person likes my music." She squeezed a wry smile. Rock is an attitude, and there is only one person in the audience who cares. It's sad.
"You are welcome, let's go, your teammate looks hopeless, I invite you to have a drink."
The woman in leather is obviously older than Amanda. She is full of the charm of a mature woman, and her smile is full of tenderness and charm.
She looked around at this time, as if she was not satisfied with the environment, but she did not see the death knell hidden in the shadow behind the boiler, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Amanda shook her head, stood up and put the guitar on her shoulders: "No, thank you for your kindness, but now I just want to go home and X explode my guitar, and then I can't wake up with a pound of ‘leaf’."
The woman in leather clothes smiled and hugged her shoulders, and joked very familiarly: "X own guitar? You should use this as the finale on the stage."
"Uh.... Almost, that, you are indeed very attractive, and the girls are also very good, but..." Amanda wanted to break free from the arms of the leather woman, she was filled with it. The elastic body feels uncomfortable.
"Thank you, but I'm not hooking up with you." The woman in leather clothes smiled and hugged her and walked out, passing by the boiler: "I invite you to dinner, and I can give you a record contract."
Amanda didn't struggle anymore when she heard the record, but she still had some precautions: "Are you from a record company?"
"No." The leather-clothed woman was slender but powerful, and she pushed away all the people in the way with one hand.
"Then you are the agent?" Amanda asked again.
"No, it's not an agent." The leather-clothed woman smiled softly: "But I have a record contract, are you coming?"
"...Let's go."
Thirty seconds later, in the Wilson Fast Food Restaurant, which is open 24 hours across from the bar.
The woman in leather ordered a lot of things such as burgers, fried chicken, French fries, strong drinks, etc., and very generously invited Amanda to have a supper. She also first raised the burger and took a big bite, chewing like a hamster.
"So you write your own song?"
Amanda didn't eat, but shrank in a corner of the deck, blocked her guitar in front of her, and looked at each other warily.
"Who are you first? I don't know your name yet."
If it weren't for a brightly lit public place, she would never follow a woman in leather.
Fast food restaurants look the same at all times. The air is full of the smell of instant coffee and burger meat, the lights are warm, the bright yellow tables and chairs are fairly clean, and the various posters on the walls are Captain America holding a variety of different Food, than a picture of thumbs.
Well, when the Wilson chain fast food consumption reaches a certain amount, he will send the Captain America soldiers. The waiter just brought a German mustache when he delivered the meal.
Amanda already has this one, and she prefers the one that rides a motorcycle, but that has to be when she dines alone, not with the mysterious man in black.
The black-haired woman shrugged, put down the bite of the burger, thought for a second, and answered.
"I'm Valentina Allenguela di Fontaine, I come from the Logistics Department of Strategic Dangerous Intervention and Intelligence, to put it simply, I am a national agent."
Amanda held the guitar tightly. She looked at Valentina's face, her eyes full of distrust: "Can I see your credentials?"
With a smile on Valentina's face, her momentum instantly cooled the environment: "No, we are super agents, but we don't go everywhere with small pieces of paper that can prove our identity."
"What does this have to do with me?" Amanda frowned, and she started rubbing outside the deck, as if planning to escape.
"Your father used to be my colleague, in a sense." The female agent allowed her to move, but she lowered her head to continue drinking, covering her mouth.
Amanda likes her father very much, otherwise the band's name would not be called "Dead Father Dave". At this time, her father was mentioned by strangers and she felt very uncomfortable.
"What do you mean?"
Valentina picked up the burger and wiped the ketchup on the corner of her mouth with her little finger coated with black nail polish: "I joined the logistics department later ~ EbookFREE.me ~ he sacrificed earlier than I joined, Dave. Armstrong, he is a good man, and I heard that even the death knell like a devil is bad for him."
"I thought he was a policeman and died of a firefight with a drug dealer..." Amanda took a deep breath. She was young at the time, but she always remembered her father's affairs clearly. It was a big palm. A man who always smiles.
Whenever he put his hand on top of her head, she would squint her eyes comfortably like a kitten.
The female agent shook her head, and she sighed: "No, he died in a Hydra attack. Do you know Hydra? Captain America should always know?"
"I know, but I really should go." Amanda hugged her guitar and walked out of the deck: "Father means everything to me, and now you tell me he has been lying to me? About the two of us Blow."
Valentina saw that she was going to leave, backhanded out a stack of paper from her underwear, and slapped it on the table: "Ten records, global tour, Wilson Entertainment's contract, tsk, that's a big company with hands and eyes. There are also resources in Hollywood. Do you like movies?"
Amanda stayed still like a robot, slowly returned to her original position, picked up the stack of paper and looked through it carefully.
They all seem to be true, even the other party’s name has been signed, just waiting for her to sign.
Since it was the painstaking effort of my father's colleagues before his death... then accept it.
For a time, there were only the sound of Valentina eating and drinking, and the rustle of paper turning in their deck. From time to time, there were harsh tunes and crazy screams from the bar across the road.
They didn't even notice that a young man with a Beatle haircut was listening in the booth next to them back to back.