I stared at the chewing gum marks on the floor, and the mop in my hand could no longer produce water.
At two o'clock in the morning, only a few machines were still on in Jiguang Internet Cafe. The light of the screen reflected on the faces of those who were dozing, and the sound of the keyboard was sparse, as if they were dying. I fetched a new bucket of water from the utility room and planned to drag the piece of chewing gum off the floor - I had been dragging it for three days and it just wouldn't come off.
The glass door was pushed open.
I didn't look up. People who come to Internet cafes at this time are either crazy about playing games or have been kicked out of the house by their wives. I continued to struggle with the piece of gum.
"Where is your network administrator?"
The voice was young, with a hint of arrogance that was deliberately suppressed. I looked up and saw a young man wearing a professional team uniform standing at the door. The team uniform is black and red, with the letters TSG printed on the chest.
My hand stopped in mid-air.
TSG.
He took off his hat, revealing a rather young face, probably about seventeen or eighteen years old. The kid stood there, scanning around the Internet cafe, and then his eyes fell on me—or, to be precise, on the mop in my hand.
He smiled.
That smile was very simple, the kind of smile that couldn't help but be sarcastic when seeing a joke.
"Are you that," he paused, as if he was considering his words, "that piece of trash with useless hands?"
