It was 5:30 p.m. Locking the balcony door with a double lock and instructing Charoen not to open the door of her room to anyone, Rohan proceeded to the Food Court. On the ground floor a few people were seated with confectionery eatables. Taking the escalator to the third floor, to the supermarket floor to buy some provisions and stepping out, he realized that in his absentmindedness he had reached the fourth floor, the floor where private parties were held. While walking to the other side to take the stairs down, loud rap music emanated from the slightly-open glass door. The lights were dim and the voice of the male singer came loud and jangled his ears. A party was on.
Men and women, young and middle aged, in flashy dresses, were shaking their hips and hands. In one corner several male
