It was a misty March day in the old city, with a slight drizzle. As I walked out of the bookstore in the old city with my newly purchased collection of prose poems, I met Miss Lan walking in from the outside holding an oil-paper umbrella with natural colors randomly superimposed on natural plant flowers and leaves. She was wearing a white knitted sweater from early spring, a navy short skirt and brown short boots, which were eye-catching. I couldn't help but stare at her unusual look a few more times, maybe she was used to it. As strange and curious as I was, she passed me by and entered the bookstore without noticing my gaze.
Conception: