My neck is itchy again.
I freed up one hand to scratch it and continued to turn the throttle of the battery car. After working in the food delivery business for a long time, my neck is as stiff as an iron plate, and it is normal to feel itchy. But the problem is that I always feel like someone is talking in my ear, very low, as if blowing air against the base of my ear.
"Soon."
Here we go again. I tilted my head sharply and almost drove the scooter into the green belt on the side of the road. Behind him there were only plastic bags blown by the wind swirling around, not even a human figure.
This is already the fourth time today. I cursed, took off my gloves and wiped the sweat from my face. The weather in June was like scorching heat, and the inside of my helmet was as stuffy as a steamer. I smacked my chapped lips, parked the car on the side of the road, and looked at the order on my phone.
There is one last order.
The delivery address is an old neighborhood in the old city, which I know very well. There are all old buildings from 20 years ago. There is no elevator. Every time I send it, I have to climb stairs, which is as tiring as a dog. But at this point, the sky has darkened, the street lights are half on, and there are quite a few people on the street. People are coming off work and walking around. It's noisy and lively.
