My friendship with Ling Miao began with an accidental injury.
At that time, he was in full swing to be mean to the person in front of him. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and frowned: "Are you an accomplice too? This outfit is a visual terror attack."
I backhand spilled the coffee on his limited edition shirt.
Later, while handing me a tissue to wipe away my tears, he commented sharply on my ex-boyfriend: "Well done, his face is only suitable for appearing on a wanted poster."
We became friends, a relationship where we sprayed each other with disinfectant.
While he was scolding and crying about the newcomers in the law firm, I was trembling with anger from Party A in the building next door.
We thought we would be like this forever, confirming the absurdity of the world in each other's venomous tongues.
Until he was in the hospital bed and used his last strength to send all my drunken and ugly videos to a group.
It rained on the day of the funeral.
The phone vibrated. It was his default email:
"Stop howling, your eyeliner looks like a spider spirit."
"Also, let me lend you the black dress at the bottom of my wardrobe."
"If you dare to wear that blue coat of yours, I'll change it for you even if I'm a ghost."
Short story, be, friendship
Intention: But I once had such a friend