Fireworks Smell

At 5:30 in the morning, the iron gate of the vegetable market opened, the sound of leather shoes rang in the underground garage of the office building, and the white mist rose from the early stall at the entrance of the alley. These small sounds outline the true pulse of the city. The dust of the times falls as heavy as a mountain on an individual's head, but there are always people who silently support him. Hardware store owner Zhang has been organizing shelves at three o'clock in the morning for twenty years to support his daughter to become a doctor; Sister Li, with her husband's disability and family difficulties, worked as a tally clerk during the day and studied accounting at night, finding a way out. Under the eaves, emotions take root and sprout. An old couple in a car repair shop quarrel over food, but they are willing to sell jade bracelets to help their son; a young couple, under the pressure of life, still prepare breakfast for each other after quarreling. Children's education is a source of anxiety. Parents wait outside training classes, but recall their childhood when their children are frustrated. Life's blows often come without warning. An accident or a serious illness can wipe out the savings of three generations, and a layoff will make the elites in suits and ties blush in the subway. But you can always see some people setting up temporary stoves on the ruins and cooking up steaming hope with the last handful of noodles; some people folding unemployment notices into paper boats and setting sail again with unfinished dreams. The resilience of these ordinary people grows like weeds in the cracks of reinforced concrete. There are no legends or dramas in this book, only soy milk and fried dough sticks, thousands of lights, running figures and supporting hands. These daily routines are vivid footnotes of the times. Turning the pages of the book, you may be able to see your and my stories. .