The July night in Jiangcheng was as sultry as a tightly covered steamer, and even the wind that occasionally blew through the street corner carried a sticky rancid smell.
Zhou Ran squatted beside the green belt outside Yinhai Shopping Mall and tugged on his collar irritably. He took a big mouthful of the Hongtashan tobacco in his hand that had burned to the filter. The pungent smell of inferior tobacco swirled in his lungs, and he spit it out into the stuffy air.
The mobile phone in front of me was placed on a cheap tripod with fill light, and a few barrages floated across the screen.
[Brother Ran, don't hold on, find a job in an electronics factory. Isn't it better than this to provide food and housing?
[Hey, isn't this the talented Zhou Zhou who was the top investigative reporter of Jiangcheng Evening News back then? Why did you end up searching for spirits in the middle of the night?
[The job of the anchor is so bad, the Yinhai Mall has been deserted for eight hundred years, and there are not even a ghost. It has disappeared.
Number of people online: 48
Zhou Ran stared at the dazzling "48", with a sneer on his lips, and reached out to put out the cigarette butt on the dirt-covered steps.
