A torrential downpour came crashing down like a basin of water being overturned. Fat raindrops pounded against Chen Mo’s yellow helmet with a steady patter. The electric scooter’s headlight barely cut through the rain, illuminating the indistinct road ahead. The phone’s navigation app repeated mechanically, “You’ve gone off route. Recalculating.” Irritated, he smacked the dripping-wet phone mount. The bright red countdown in the upper-right corner of the screen flashed into view: 00:07:32. Building 7, Splendid Garden. His last delivery. If he was late, he’d worked all day for nothing.
“Damn it!” Chen Mo muttered, twisting the throttle hard. The wheels plowed through puddles, spraying muddy water everywhere. The old electric scooter groaned under the strain, but still wouldn’t pick up speed. This wretched weather, this junk bike, and the customer who just had to order malatang during a torrential downpour and leave a note saying, “One spill and I’m leaving a bad review,” all had his blood boiling. He just wanted to finish the delivery, get back to his ten-square-meter rental room that always smelled of greasy takeout, and collapse into bed.
