There is an impossible person living in the psychology of every single person, making it impossible for you to make do with life and accommodate other people.
"What are you doing?"
"Working overtime"
"Are you off work?"
"Not yet"
"Are you busy lately?"
"Busy"
He starts talking in one sentence and stops in two, coldly, this is my Mr. Bu.
And he also seems to have a miss in his heart, and that miss is obviously not me.