"Clang-"
The heavy iron gate made a tooth-grinding sound as the rusty hinges protested. The fog at six o'clock in the morning had not dissipated yet, and it stuck to my face wetly, like a wet mask that couldn't be removed, with a musty smell.
Lin Fan squinted his eyes and looked up at the sky. The sky was gray, very much like his days in the past five years.
The suit he was wearing was an Armani haute couture five years ago, but now? That's a rag. The cuffs were frayed, the collar was yellow, and there was even a smell of unwashed disinfectant. But he didn't care. He threw the snakeskin bag containing a few pieces of shabby clothes over his shoulder and stepped out of the yellow line.
"Lin Fan, when you get out, put away your trap."
A drake voice came from behind, it was Lao Zhang, the supervisor. Lao Zhang held a four-yuan pack of red plums in his mouth, squinting his eyes and playing with a baton in his hand, "The rule here is that the one with the big fist is the master, but outside? That's the one with the big money is the master. Don't come in again, this place doesn't support idlers."
Lin Fan paused and did not look back. He just waved his hand with his back to Lao Zhang.
