The July sun hangs scorchingly overhead, making the asphalt road soft and sticky to the soles of your shoes when you step on it. I squatted in the shade at the entrance of the alley, holding half a cigarette in my hand, and watched as the rolling shutter door of the veteran car repair shop opposite was half-pulled down. The boss's surname is Zhou. He is in his fifties and has been retired from the army for more than 20 years. His left leg is a bit lame, and his shoulders are higher and lower when he walks. He was squatting at the door and chewing watermelon. The juice dripped down his chin and dripped on his white vest, leaving dark red marks. Lao Zhou, has your car been repaired? I flicked the ashes from my cigarette. Fix your ass. He spat watermelon seeds and the gearbox was shattered. Repairing it would cost more than building a new one. I don't know which turtle did it, smashing the car like that in the middle of the night. I didn't answer. Because I broke it. To be precise, I asked A Biao to smash it. That boy A Biao had dark hands. He swung the iron rod and refused to acknowledge his relatives. After smashing it, he even took a video and sent it to me. The front windshield of the black Passat in the video was shattered into spider web shapes, the headlights blew out, and there were several dents in the hood, as if it had been stepped on by a giant. Lao Zhou didn't know this. He only knew that I owned a second-hand car dealership and occasionally came to him for car repairs, so I was considered a regular customer. He treated me to cigarettes and drinks. Once my car broke down in the middle of the road, and he came to my rescue on an electric bike in the middle of the night, soaking wet all over. But I still had his car smashed. No way, he owes money. It's not that you owe me, you owe it to Brother Qiang. Brother Qiang's name is Chen Guoqiang. He has opened three KTVs and two bathing centers in this area, and has more than 20 people under his command.
