Talking Box

I am a waste recycler and unexpectedly received a talking delivery box. Xiang cried out that he had broken corpses inside his body and begged me to call the police. I asked it in a trembling voice who the murderer was. It suddenly lowered its voice: It is the new owner of the kitchen knife you sold yesterday. He was standing behind you, holding a freshly sharpened knife. The heat wave is like an invisible and sticky beast, entrenched in the "Shunda Waste Recycling Station", twisting the air. The electric fan lingered in the corner, making an annoying buzz, and the wind it blew was scalding hot. I, Ah Fei, was slumped on the broken wicker chair behind the counter. My sweatshirt was soaked and sticky and stuck to my skin. I stared at the scene outside the door that was slightly swaying in the sun, wondering if I could have a decent opening today. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.