Riska’s forehead was sweated while she seated herself in the peach-colored straight chair. Riska, who had a glass eye, and would not admit it. She was a tall,  melancholy girl with straight hair, and lips excessively pink and wet. Riska  and  John were together for fifty days  in love. John was a short, rather romantic, bald-headed, and never rowdy. The day was too slow. John gave his kerchief  to Riska, wiping her forehead entirely  and flattering with queer  phrases. Riska looked at John and said nothing. She didn’t talk over the death of  Alice at my sister’  keeper’s  movie. John asked her  with innumerable questions. But Alice was really quiet. John realized that the death was a terror language. Then he let her alone and reading his newspaper next to Riska.

“John, what’s news? she asked.

“There are nothing special,  my dear!” he replied, yawning.

“Why did you buy this newspaper?” she said, clutching John’s arm.

John wondered her reaction in a peculiar answer. Riska revealed her affection to John through her  way, gnawing on the index finger of her right hand, and John crouching slightly, then  putting his hat into her  bag. In March 2009, Riska graduated from a college of art, after that in the last April 2009 her father  was stricken with a heart disease and three days later died. Dancing was like a drug for her.  She would be fun to dance if John had  a request. She  bended both legs when the music starting, and staring with a glistened-expression. John acknowledged she was quite a grand dancer.

“It’s all about Syahrini!”, John said.

“She says, in dragon year she will be blessed by a happiness!” John said again.

“It’s a nonsense, John!” “I mean did she deem a dragon is the source of happiness?” she said, lifting one of her eyebrows.

“Perhaps!” he answered, looking at a tallest building near the park.

“Do you think a dragon brings of disaster  to people life?” she inquired, touching her long bare arms.

“I think, it sounds like an awful joke!” he said, giggling.

“Put down that goddamn newspaper a minute. Look at me seriously! she warned dramatically.

“The death is a long dark. It’s a pain when we lose people who really we love. Like  Alice’s story. Riska said again but more impressively, she wanted John to feel all of her voices.

“No, the story of the dragon doesn’t exist. I think we must to shift the topic!” he said. “Anyway, happy birthday to you! Let’s we talk just about Syahrini’s bun!” he said, gripping her hands, and giving a bunch of rose.