In the crowd.
Bluem felt alone and disheartened.
This job.
It's too unfulfilling, probably the most lackluster posting for an American diplomat abroad. Other countries, at worst, you still get to enjoy free meals and drinks.
Conversing with the learned, engaging with the elite.
People of interest.
Media darlings.
Constantly surrounded by admirers.
But.
What about myself now?
The only people I interact with are peers, unless it's an official invitation, no one in Myanmar bothers to invite us, day after day, it's boring as hell.
Turning his head.
He looked at the British diplomat with a silly grin.
Sneered.
Why are you so happy? You have zero ambition, might as well be a dead fish.
At this moment.
As if sensing his gaze, the person approached and whispered:
"Later."
"Let's find a place for lunch, I heard a French chef moved to the city center of the new town. Haven't visited in a long time, let's give it a try."
Upon hearing this.
Bluem's mouth twitched.
A moment.
