The first time I saw that man was in the spring park.
He sat by the lake with an easel in front of him and painted something on it. The dazzling sunlight filtered most of the energy through the gaps between the branches, casting dots of light on his face, diluting the overly sharp eyebrows. This made the profile of his face particularly soft, as if coated with a gentle golden light - of course, I later learned that he was not as harmless as he seemed now.
At that time I was taking the children for an outing. These children who have just entered elementary school cannot walk too far, so this park near the school district is perfect.
It's said to be a park, but it's actually not that beautiful. This makes me a little regretful. I actually really hope that the children can see the scenery in my memory. And to be honest – I don't like this city at all. The air in the north is too dry, and this city that stands in the north with some history has an air of old industry, silent like an outdated steel giant. Even the air in early spring is filled with thick haze. It made me feel like my airways were in danger.
When I had to start bending over I started coughing violently. A man's hand stretched out next to him, holding a mask with his beautiful fingers.
This was the first time we met. At that time, I never imagined that the person next to me would spend thousands of days with me throughout my life.
Sweet [probably] and [should]. Art Attack Li Bai