“I do not. That’s why I’m here.” He gives me a youthful, expectant smile. “Midnight in Jakarta,” I say. He looks at me, puzzled. “The smile. It’s the one you gave your parents, the shopkeepers, even the chief of police in Midnight in Jakarta.” “That’s creepy,” he says. “That you recycle old movie smiles? I agree.” “That you notice.” He laughs and gets out of the car. “Can you just try to fit in?”
