I just went up to the rooftop to hang a quilt, and a gust of evil wind pulled the quilt over my head. I fell downstairs and died.
I have only completed 5 of the 100 wish lists on my desk, and the remaining 95 have become residual thoughts...
My soul is bound here, and I fall off the rooftop of this building once every day at three o'clock in the afternoon.
On the thirty-fifth day of the falling cycle, I met someone who really jumped off the building...
Concept: Summer insects cannot speak of ice
