Your story, my story, his story, her story, his and her story, him, him, her, her, who can't live without, who is the only one. How much energy do we have to squander, and how much time do we have to waste? Are we no longer young? He, he, she, her, their faces gradually blurred. Who can decide our future? The dream of prosperous New York is worse than going back.
When the sea has turned into a mulberry field, when the plan cannot keep up with the changes, I write to you and me who are trapped in the Great Depression, and to my friends who are confused and anxious at the intersection of the future.
Text by Taozi