I'm a Takeaway Boy

I was once a middle school boy, convinced that the power of world destruction was sealed within my body, and that the coordinates of another dimension were hidden deep in my eyes. At that time, I fought against dragons and fallen angels in my imagination, and drew the laws of the world that only I could understand in the margins of my math textbook. Later, I grew up and became a salesperson. The power of world destruction is encapsulated in PPT, and the coordinates of the different dimensions are converted into customer addresses. I learned to use smiles and words to build another kind of barrier, package dreams and anxieties into products, and sell them to adults who, like me, are gradually compromising with reality. I am still fighting, but my opponents have become performance, mortgage, and the nothingness that hits me late at night. Now, I am a delivery boy, a middle-aged uncle with a receding hairline and lumbar muscle strain. The capillaries of the city are my new map, and the battery life of the electric vehicle is my only magic bar. I put aside all the grand narratives about saving the world and just wanted to deliver every order safely. I thought that the boy who was in the second grade of middle school had already died completely in 996 and the daily necessities and daily necessities. Until that early morning, I stood in front of the fourth row of freezers in the funeral home, looking at the pale hand reaching out from the cold air and taking the takeaway from my hand. That whisper - "This time it smells more human than last time" - was like an ancient mantra that instantly penetrated the greasy and tired body of the middle-aged man. I clearly felt that the middle school boy who had been sleeping for many years suddenly opened his eyes deep in his soul. It turns out that this world has never been "normal".