The fishy smell of engine oil.
Chen Ping's throat felt itchy.
He hunched over and moved the last box of inferior parts onto the conveyor belt.
My forehead is wet with sweat.
Machinery roared all around.
He straightened up and looked out the gray exhaust window.
The tall skyscrapers are incompatible with this "Rust Zone".
A sense of powerlessness seized him.
He was unwilling to give in.
Life should not be endless repetition and consumption.
The dismissal bell rang.
The workers walked numbly toward the exit.
Lao Wang patted him on the shoulder.
"Aping, let's go have a drink tonight."
Chen Ping shook his head, his voice hoarse.
"No, Brother Wang, I still have something to do."
He didn't want to give up what little sanity he had left to alcohol.
