The night was thick and almost dripping.
Lin Mo dragged his hollowed body towards the end of the office.
The punch card machine there is like a silent monster, swallowing up the last energy of urban men and women.
Another night of endless overtime.
His eyelids were heavy, and every step he took seemed to be filled with lead.
The air was filled with the sour smell of cooled coffee and the residual smell of instant noodles from my colleagues. Everything was so familiar that it was nauseatingly familiar.
"Hurry up and check in, go back and hold up the corpse."
