I traveled to Angeles in the summer of 2018.

The nights in Angeles were always loud and glamorous.

The neon signs never slept, and the music blared as if to erase people's thoughts. My friend, who was guiding me, and I suddenly stopped in front of a shop while wandering through Walking Street late at night.

Crystal Palace. That was the name of the shop.

As we entered the two-story establishment, dozens of semi-nude women were dancing on the stage on the first floor, while men on the second floor drank and watched the women below.

The women had numbers attached to their thighs. Like prisoners in Auschwitz, they were called by numbers by the customers. "I like number 11." "Number 24, come here!" Without names, the women there existed merely as identification numbers.

However, only one of them had a small phrase instead of a number: "Drink Me!!"

What is this???? Why does only this woman not have a number?

At first, I thought it was a joke. I asked my friend. My friend said he didn't know either. I called a staff member and asked. "Why does only that woman have 'Drink Me' written on her instead of a number?" The staff member replied with a blank, emotionless face.

"She's ugly, so no one has chosen her so far!!"

Ah! Hearing that, I unconsciously looked at her again. Indeed, she was unattractive. Even under the bright lights, she looked somehow shabby, and her forced smile seemed even more forlorn. While the other women showcased their beauty, drawing the attention of customers, she was ignored by everyone, as if she were invisible in that glamorous space.

I stared at her for a few more seconds and then left the bar without being able to say anything more. As I stepped outside, the loud music faded into the distance. The trip ended, and time passed. Strangely, while other memories of the glamorous fun have faded, and I can't even recall her face, the memory of her existence occasionally comes to mind.

I don't know why. Is it pity, guilt, or just a sense of sorrow felt as a human being? The fact that she was never chosen among so many people lingered in my heart for a long time. It seems like only beautiful and glamorous people are remembered in this world, but perhaps what truly remains unforgettable are such lonely expressions and a single, indifferent, sad remark from a staff member.

If I ever go back there again, and if she is still somewhere on that stage, this time I don't want to just pass by. I want to tell the staff member, "I like 'Drink Me.' I choose her. Bring her to me." It's not a grand reason. I just want to tell her from that day that at least one person in the world saw you. I want to tell her that I still remember her forced smile that night, driven by a vague expectation and a small hope that she might still be chosen, and I just want to offer a little help.