There is a food delivery service in the urban village.
Aunt Zhang said he had lost weight. Brother Dao said he had a tough life. Uncle He said he didn't look like a food delivery person.
He didn't feel like it himself.
But he does deliver food. I ride a scooter through the alleys every day. Three and a half dollars per order. A monthly income of over three thousand.
In the takeout box – it's not just takeout.
Sometimes it carries a knife. Sometimes I post a photo. Sometimes I pretend to be someone else.
Someone asked him: Who are you?
He said: Delivery food.
Then he rode away on a battery car.
The rose flowers bloomed deep in the alley. Spare ribs soup is in the pot. A light was turned off but not out.
He's still delivering food.
