When Han Zhiwen dragged his exhausted body out of the subway station, it was pouring rain. He subconsciously tightened his thin suit jacket, but he still couldn't resist the chill of early spring. The black umbrella that had been with him for five years was broken by a subway door the day before yesterday. Now he could only let the rain wet his already cheap shirt.
"Failed again..." Han Zhiwen looked at the email notification on the screen of his mobile phone, and the words of being rejected for the 17th interview stung his eyes. At the age of thirty, which should have been a stage of successful career, he became one of the unemployed due to the sudden collapse of his company.
The coins in his pocket jingled, and Han Zhiwen counted them, and found that there were still twenty-three yuan and fifty cents left - this was all his food expenses for today. The beef noodles at the noodle shop on the corner went up to 25 yuan. He shook his head with a wry smile and decided to go to the convenience store to buy some bread.
The moment he turned around, a figure huddled next to the bank's ATM attracted his attention. It was an old man in ragged clothes, his gray beard was wet and stuck to his face by the rain, and he was shivering and trying to use a newspaper to block the falling raindrops.
Han Zhiwen stopped. Reason told him that he should leave directly, and now he couldn't even take care of himself. But the old man's cloudy but calm eyes reminded him of his grandfather, who had died many years ago.
"Old man, you can't take shelter from the rain here." Han Zhiwen squatted down, took out the only paper towel left in his bag and handed it to the old man, "There is a community service center two hundred meters ahead. Can I take you there?"
The old man raised his head and showed an elusive smile: "Young man, you are already wet yourself, but you still care about me, an old man?"
