In the third alley at the south end of the old city, half of the house number was blown away by the wind, leaving only "17" hanging crookedly on a rusty iron nail.
The signboard of "Changmian Funeral Supplies Store" is not much better, with white characters on a black background, and the word "store" in the lower right corner is missing a horizontal line, which looks like "Zhan". Someone nearby touched it up with red paint, making it crooked and even uglier than before.
Pang Jingzhe was leaning on the recliner behind the counter, with his hat buttoned up to the bridge of his nose. His two long legs were resting on the edge of the counter. The soles of his military boots were facing upward. The sole of his left foot had been worn flat, but there were still some lines on his right foot.
The shop was filled with wreaths, paper bundles, and shrouds. There were two coffins for display standing in the corner. The paint on the cheap one was peeling, and the expensive one was covered in dust.
On a July day, it was so hot outside that the dogs didn't even want to go out, but it was actually cool inside the store. It's not because of the air conditioner - the air conditioner broke last year, and Pang Jingzhe thought it was too expensive to repair, so he never took care of it. He couldn't explain the reason for the coolness. Anyway, other people who came in said it was cold, but he thought it was just right.
The phone vibrated.
