The summer in Flushing saw a man in a hurry, wearing a suit, knocking on the door eagerly. He knocked rapidly and forcefully, almost as if he wanted to kick the door open and rush in.
"Mr. Vidal, right?" The door opened, and an Asian man pulled it open, looking at Vidal in front of him with a faint smile.
Vidal was taken aback, an Asian? But in Flushing, it was very normal to encounter Asians.
More than the man's ethnicity, Vidal was concerned about something else.
"Yes, I am Vidal. May I know if you are Chen Yu?" Vidal said, somewhat awkwardly.
The names of Asians were always a bit hard for him to pronounce, truly some strange sounds.
Looking at the anxious man in front of him, Chen Yu revealed a kind smile.
Business had come to his door.
"Yes, Mr. Vidal, but you can just call me Mr. Chen," Chen Yu politely made way, gesturing for Vidal to follow him inside.
