This is a big century, but we live in a small world.
Seventeen-year-old Huo Chunkou returned to his mother's hometown for the first time after he became sensible. It is a common area in China for the families of the northern state-owned steel plants established in the 1970s and 1980s. This is a small world, a social structure that a New York dandy who grew up abroad cannot understand.
City paintings, rumors. Human touch, heat and coolness. Quiet, noisy. Simple and tedious.
All the opposing adjectives are as crowded as the messages on the streets, washing over time in this small factory area as big as sesame seeds.
Huo Chunkou calmly recorded everything with his SLR. He tried his best to keep his attitude as if it had nothing to do with himself, and observed these people from a bird's-eye view, as if he was conducting a social structure survey.
However, when I dreamed back at midnight, I had already devoted everything to a pale and somewhat frail man.
Wang Su, Wang Su.