After being laid off, I spent all day typing in front of the computer to earn a meager living expenses.
The wife held her lover's hand and mocked: "I have been writing for two years and earning thirty-five cents a day, so I might as well pick up garbage!"
My daughter quietly stuffed the saved New Year's money into my pocket: "Dad, don't starve to death."
In five years, I wrote a phenomenal hit, sold the copyright, and made 5 billion with crazy investment.
However, my ex-wife was rushed to the hospital by a domestically violent man, and she begged me to get back together with her leg in plaster.
I swung the red wine and smiled: "I remember you said -"
"The novel I wrote is worthy of rubbing the soles of your high heels."
