“Votre .” The guard at the door of the club held out a hand for me.
“What?” I asked.
“Votre identifiant.” He repeated.
I placed my right hand in his palm, but he shrugged it off and pushed me hard. I couldn’t tell what he was asking for, but I was willing to pay if he was asking for a ticket.
“He said your identity card.” A voice said from behind, then, a man in a long suit walked past me and stopped before the security guard.
“Tu ne vois pas que c’est un homme blac?” The man grunted before the security guard. “Laisse-le entrer!”
The guard stepped aside, and the man turned to me and urged me to follow him in with raised brows. I smiled and followed him into the club.
“My name is Yapi.” The man extended me a hand when we entered the club. “Yours?”
“Alessandro.” I s
