Crutches, tobacco leaves and wooden pillows are placed casually and together at scattered intersections. Under the shadow of the whirling half-year-old leaves, sharing the beauty with the long wind, the old lady in the maroon coarse plaid coat, wearing the beret of their era, chatted with the stall owner.
On the other side, there is a small "high-end" bookstore with a street stall. The plaque that warmly encourages us to grow up has the sentence "The owner is single and wants to chat privately" printed on it.
The half-bald middle-aged uncle hurried to the next invitation with his clothes covered in gray stains.
At this moment, I was walking on the way to the library in great confusion, greedy for this quiet beauty, lazy and confused about the vicissitudes of yesterday.
When will the idle people of this world return home?
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
