Cold rainy night. Rain dripped down the damaged ceiling, forming murky puddles at his feet. The washed-white gray hoodie on his body was mostly wet, and his black hair was stuck to his pale forehead. Under his eyes were deep gray stains left by long-term malnutrition and insomnia. The old torn wound on his left ear ached vaguely in the damp and cold weather. He had just been fired from the last convenience store that was willing to take him in. The reason was vague, but he knew clearly that it was the revenge of the store manager who always wanted to take advantage of him but failed. The coldness of reality is more biting than the rain. He rubbed the half piece of dry bread left in his pocket and stared blankly at the sky polluted by neon lights outside the bridge tunnel. The experience in the orphanage taught him to be wary of all good intentions. To him, the world was a desert that he needed to trek alone.
