Trains from Jinan to Urumqi are always crowded. This is my tenth year working on this route. To be precise, it's been ten years, three months, eight days, twelve hours, thirty-nine minutes, and fifty-nine seconds. By the time you finish reading this sentence, it'll be thirty minutes and one second. I don't understand what that means to me, but the strings of numbers on my forehead still flash every day. They call it time. I have no vacation, no salary, no family, and no friends. None of that really matters to me. My understanding of those words is just a passage...
