The teacher came late again. He drove here today. He probably got up late in the morning. I saw patches of black and blue on his lower eyelids, and I knew others wouldn't notice as meticulous as me. I pretended to be looking for someone and stopped casually at the door. Sure enough, he stepped up the stairs three steps at a time and two steps at a time.
"Is there any more food?"
His voice is still so nice, and has the qualities common to cultural people like them: clean and delicate.
I hurriedly said "No more!" But I didn't want to repeat the same old routine today, so I said to him
"The breakfast at the window is closed! We are eating clear noodle soup inside. Do you want a bowl?"
I saw him hesitantly looking inside the porch, and I felt a little embarrassed. We were not as particular about meal logistics as they were in the front restaurant. We had been busy all morning and were very hungry. Seven or eight people were picking and eating with a large pot of leftover meat dumplings in front of them. There was no image at all.
"No! No!" Sure enough, he turned around and quickly went down the stairs, still taking three steps at a time and walking into the car. I knew that if I wanted to see him again, I would have to wait until tomorrow morning or when he could come earlier.