A truth that has been buried for sixteen years, a grudge that spans two generations, a story of routine and being trapped and counter-routine.
The dark-faced heroine struggles forward in the quagmire of self-confusion, but always hopes to catch a ray of sunshine. Is it a bright future, or is it forever doomed?
In the summer of 2002, this small southern city entered the most humid season of the year. There were only a few pedestrians walking lazily under the dim street lights.
"In our lifetime, we meet on narrow roads, and we are inevitably not spared. The palms of our hands suddenly grow tangled curves. Before we are sensible, after we are in love..." Mediterranean in the record store saw off the last customer, put out the cigarette butt angrily, and took out the CD that had been silent all day. Faye Wong on the CD is wearing purple eye makeup, nodding slightly, and her beautiful face is covered with a touch of soot.
In countless such ordinary nights, some people hugged, some kissed, some got together, some said goodbye, some said they would have a drink together someday, and some forgot about each other and never saw each other again. People hold their fiery hearts and pity themselves in their own stories, and then they pass each other hurriedly in the long streets and alleys with their luggage on their backs.
Hello, most familiar stranger.