Please note that this story is purely fictitious: any resemblance is purely coincidental! ! ! The wind of the twelfth lunar month blew up bits of snow, which penetrated through the holes in the tin house on Old Factory Street, making his face feel cold. He opened his eyes suddenly and saw the mottled cement roof, dark yellow bricks exposed where the wall peeled off, half a bag of moldy potatoes piled in the corner, and the air was filled with the sour smell of soot and cheap liquor.
